The Hitchhiker's Guide To Ivalice
by tomai
Summary: A story centered on a bangaa holy man and the wierdos travelling with him as they fulfill a holy mission. Rated T for language starting out.
1. Chapter 1

Welcome, one and all, to what I hope to become a window into the dark, sometimes sticky recesses of the innermost part of the innermost part of my brain. I'm writing this kind of like a hitchhiker's guide to Ivalice, with little tidbits of interesting info about the place if it actually existed. It delves deep into religion, philosophy, and the mating rituals of flans. Well, I haven't much to say, so let's get on with it, shall we?

_The bangaa of Ivalice are a deeply religious people, and unsurprisingly, many young bangaas become clergymen. Most people are familiar with the white monks, which are the warrior priests of the church, but they are not the only kind. There are also the green monks, who live most of there life enclosed in monasteries, devoting there life to prayer and service to Adramalach. Among other things, the green monks often study other occupations, and many are weapon smiths, gardeners, architects, and there's an enclave in the Kudik Peaks known for their beer and wild parties. Go figure. The others are the red monks, who aren't monks, per say, but laymen who work for the church. Because they don't take the oaths of poverty and chastity of the green monks, and don't risk life and limb like the white monks, the proper name of a red monk roughly translated from the bangaa mother tongue is "pansy wuss"._

Sprohm was a rough town. Run by the lizard like bangaa, the rules were strict, but often broken. The bars filled the air with the sounds of off key singing and brawls. For most people, you went only if you had business there, then you got out before that one mean looking moogle transvestite with the switch blade realizes that your shoes and jacket don't match. Such was the case for Arthur, a tallish but very skinny bangaa who was seated at one of Sprohm's many aforementioned bars, this one called the Bitter Old Bug, which had a humorous drawing of an antlion blearily gazing into his beer mug above its door. The young bangaa's clawed knuckles that he slung across his back showed him to be a white monk, and the lean look of his face belied the fact that he hadn't eaten in days. He sat at the bar, intently reading a book in front of him

"Hey, bookworm," came the rough voice of the bartender, "you here for something to eat or will you just sit there until you crumble into dust?"

"Hmmm?" Arthur said and quickly looked up from the book. "Oh, uh, yes, thank you sir. I'd just like some bread and butter and a cup of tea if you have any."  
"Are you sadistic or poor?" the bartender half laughed. "I'll get you some real food. It's on me."

"Thank you again, sir," Arthur said.

"So, are you here for business, or something else?" the bartender asked as he plunked down a big pewter bowl filled with hearty stew.

Arthur didn't say much for a second; instead, he unceremoniously dumped half of the stew down his throat, and fell into a fit of violent coughing from the scalding soup. When he finally was able to talk, he croaked out, "Business, I suppose."

"Uh huh," the bartender said skeptically. "And how long will you be staying here in Sprohm?"

"For a while. I can't say when I'll have to leave. Any place you'd recommend for rooms?"

"Right here, young un," the bartender said, waving his arms across the entire bar. "Won't find a better pub for miles. I'll give you a good deal since you're staying for a while. I've got a small one bed room open, so let's say twenty gil a week?"

"I can't thank you enough," Arthur said graciously. "I think I'll go out for a walk, and I'll get the key when I come back in."

"Whatever," the bartender said, and took up Arthur's dishes.

Stepping onto the streets, Arthur was pleasantly surprised at how the crowd was starting to thin out with the onset of twilight. When he had first come in to the city, people had flooded the streets, rudely jostling each other and talking loudly over the din of everybody else. The pub with its large customers and brawls was almost a viable alternative.

Arthur shivered slightly and wrapped his muffler tighter around his throat. The monastery where he grew up in was farther south, and he had had yet to be acclimated to the slightly more chilly climate that Sprohm had. Still though, he was enjoying living in a big city for the first time in his life, after his sheltered youth.

"Besides," he said wryly, "it's not like I had a choice in the matter."

Finally, Arthur found what he was he was looking for. A small alleyway branched off an old back road. No one was there, and by the looks of the buildings, no one had lived there for a while. Arthur walked into the alleyway, made an odd sign with his right hand, and clasped his hands in prayer.

"Great Adramalach, I have been given a mission by your great church. Unfortunately, because the patrons of your church are cheapskates, they couldn't give me much as far as resources go. Seriously, you know that pansy wuss Macgregor? He has a gil coin on a piece of string and he… oh never mind. All I ask is that you guide me in my most worthy quest."

His prayer finished, Arthur got back up on his feet and started walking back to the pub.

"And not a moment too soon," Arthur said looking up. A wall of grey clouds had filled the sky, and snow was beginning to fall.

The snow soon became the least of Arthur's fears as he kept wandering around the streets and avenues. He had completely lost his way and there was no one around to help him. Looking around on the street he was on, he saw another pub. Hoping to find someone in there who knew where to find the Bitter Old Bug, he walked up to the door and raised a hand to knock at it.

However, before he even touched it, the door swung open and something small and furry drove into Arthur's stomach and knocked him backwards into the snow.

"And don't come back until you have some money!" a voice from inside the bar called angrily before slamming the door.

The projectile that had knocked Arthur on his bum had been a moogle, who proceeded to curse at the bartender before picking up her floppy straw hat and putting it on her head. The moogle looked youngish, about sixteen or seventeen, with large brown eyes and a round face. Her large ears were tipped with dark black, and she also had a thick mop of shiny black hair. She had worn her black glove's fingertips down to nothing and it seemed the only new and presentable thing on her was her dark blue robe, which bore the seal of a mage academy.

"Are you okay?" Arthur asked her.

"About as okay as one could be after being thrown out of every fucking pub in the city, kupo!" she yelled but then covered her mouth looking apologetic. "Oh damn it, I'm sorry, I should be asking you if you're okay, kupo. Did my fat ass do any damage to you?"

At first Arthur could not speak. Then he restrained himself from speaking because he knew the first thing he'd say would be a reprimand of her filthy mouth. Finally, he managed to say that he was fine.

"Oh but there should be something I can do to help," the moogle girl said, her eyes earnest.

"Well, you wouldn't know where a bar called the Bitter Old Bug is, do you?"

The girl's eyes lit up. "Do I fucking ever kupo! That's one my favorite watering holes! It's funny I forgot about it. Sure, I'll take you there," then she paused and looked up at Arthur sweetly. "Any chance you'd be willing to give a kupo cute girl a little Gil for a room?"

Arthur looked at the girl. Her soft girlish features had the same haggard look he did, as if she hadn't had any food to eat or a roof over her head for some time. "Certainly, now if you'd be so kind as to direct me to said bar, I'll see what I can do. I'm kind of in need myself, you see."

"Bitchin, kupo!" the moogle said.

"Although," he said in a slightly commanding tone, "If you don't stop cursing so much, I might not do anything."

"What?! Then I just won't show you where the fucking bar is, kupo!"

"I'm an ascetic," Arthur said drily, "Just guess which of us will be more comfortable out on the streets. Now enough, or I'm cleaning that mouth out with soap and chilis."

She fumed for a little while, but finally agreed.

"Thank you, miss."

"Kupo, don't call me miss," she ordered, "I'm probably younger than you."

"What should I call you then?"

"Call me Beth, kupo. Short for Bethany Winston, honors graduate from the Cyril School of Elemental Arts, and yet I can't find a fu-" Arthur looked at her severely. "Freaking job anywhere, kupo."

"Well, my name is Arthur Macfust, white monk of the order of saint Grigori the Wise, and currently on a holy mission."

"Ah. Well, kupo, I'm happy I met you, Arthur."

"Same to you Beth."

And with that, the two walked off to the bar.

And it is done. So, reviews please. I take all reviews, from helpful criticisms to crack infused nonsense, to pitiful flames. How about this, I'll give the person with the most helpful review or most creative flame a cameo appearance in the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's a big thank you to my sole reviewer, Sage8675, for the most righteous review any amateur author could ask for, and a sizeable chunk of constructive criticism to boot. You rock, dude(dudette?). God bless, and lets let the lunacy commence! In other news, I'm bolding the Author's notes for simplicity's sake. I also realized that I had no disclaimer. So here it be. Lawyers take note.**

**I, Tomai, do not own any and all things related to final fantasy tactics advance, or Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy. These are owned by Square Enix and the late Douglas Adams, respectively. All original characters and places contained in this story are owned by me, however. So there. Suck it, you lawyer vampires.**

**And now let the lunacy (really) commence!**

_Though it may seem odd to people, the religion of the proud and warlike bangaa people is built very much on the ideas of humility and peace. One example of this is that monks of Saint Grigori the Wise must pray either at a holy site or out of the way of all people, in private._

_Four orders reside in Ivalice. There is the burning heart of Saint Markus the Courageous, a warrior-monk whose bravery knew no bounds. He had fought every creature imaginable, defeated a dragon with nothing but his fists and a bar of soap, and as his last great deed, jumped in front of a tonberry who was about to kill a young girl. Though that tonberry took his life, Mark took its head to present to Adramalach. He even crossed the Great Abyss that lies between the living and the dead so that he could help his beloved order even in the afterlife._

_Then there is the iron fist of Saint Stephan the Strong. Stephan was a templar strong enough to lift the corner of an inn building with one hand. He had only one fault, which was his arrogance, and he once challenged Adramalach himself to a fight. To humble him, Adramalach bit his left arm off to the elbow, but even with this terrible wound, Stephan was still the strongest being ever born in Ivalice, and became famous when he pushed an entire mountain in the way of a lava flow to save a town, and promptly died from overexertion. _

_The black eyes of Grigori the Wise was created by Grigori, an ascetic who knew much about everything, and who created his order so that knowledge could be spread to every corner of the world, as he believed that knowledge begets understanding, and through understanding, love. Though well versed in all subjects, Grigori excelled in engineering, and built the order's ancient fort/monastery far north in the Roda mountains that defended all of Ivalice from three invasions from foreign powers. In a bout of poetic justice, he ended up dying when one of his many bookshelves fell on him during a siege of the fort. He left as his legacy a library residing in the catacombs under his monastery of such size that to this day haven't been fully explored._

_And finally, there is the shining sword of Saint Gordon the Great. Gordon was the oldest of the four saints. He wasn't as strong as Stephan, nor as smart as Grigori, and nowhere near as suicidal as Markus, but he was the only one amongst them to never once be bested in combat. Not once. He died of old age in the embrace of his loving wife._

As they were walking along the frozen streets of Sprohm, Beth started to elaborate on her personal history.

"I was born into a family of kupo mages. Almost all of us graduated from school in Cyril, heck, two of my uncles were my instructors. And I don't want to sound arrogant-,"

"But you will anyway," Arthur thought smiling to himself.

"But I was one of the best mages in the academy, kupo. I was sure that I would get a good job in one of the nicer clans with my credentials. But then the new conflict engagement laws set in."

Arthur nodded sympathetically. "I heard that those laws forced a lot of clans to disband."

"They were a kupo fucking abomination!!" Beth almost yelled. Actually, she did yell. At the top of her lungs. Even with Arthur subtly motioning for her to keep it down as lights were beginning to turn on in some buildings. But she carried on anyway. "They made the damned conflict laws so strict that most clans had to part ways because they couldn't pay bail charges, kupo! And my brother, who ran a small magic supply store in Baguba, had to shut down his business because new money stopped coming in, kupo. My family did pretty well though. Because we were an old family and had a lot of our money invested in palace bonds and stuff, we're still living well above the poverty line, kupo."

"Language, Beth," Arthur reprimanded while dodging a shoe from an angry tenant. "Still though, if these laws are throwing the entire economy so out of whack, why don't they just lift the laws?"

"For the same fu-" another stare from Arthur, "the same reason I'm out here cold and half starved talking to the biggest prude in Ivalice. Pride. That and they aren't suffering too much from this whole thing. The larger more powerful clans do all the work for them kupo, so they can sit on their fat a-" yet another stare, "so they can sit around and do nothing. Kupo, that's really annoying."

Arthur looked at her for a second. Now he was curious why a moogle of such status was being thrown out of Sprohm bars. But he didn't press it. "Well, here we are." They were once again at the Bitter Old Bug, and the melancholy antlion's face stared down at them.

Arthur stepped in to tell the bartender about his new tenant, but before he could even realize he didn't know his host's name, Beth burst in and practically hurled herself at the guy.

"Kupokupo! Leonard! I haven't seen you in a while. You're fatter than ever!"

"Ooof, and you're as annoying as ever you wee little spell mouse," he said, grabbing her none to gently by her collar and plopping her down onto one of the stools at the bar. "Now tell me what you're doing in the company of an upstanding young man like that guy? Actually, I'm not sure I wish to know what a holy man was doing with you Beth." He said, pointing to Arthur.

"Kupo?!" Beth said indignantly, "I can't believe you'd insinuate I'd do anything with that, that, well, THAT!" she said, pointing emphatically at Arthur, who was sitting in one of the armchairs near the pub's fire reading, trying to ignore that they were talking about him.

"I doubt you would," Leonard said, "but I do love it when you get all huffy. That was for cannoning into me, now behave."

"Hmph," Beth huffed. "Just give me a bottle of Firebird and go away, kupo. And don't you dare water it down or you're getting my rod shoved up your-"

"As I was saying," Arthur said, breaking in, "Beth did help me find my way back here. So do you mind if she stays in my room? I'll sleep on one of the armchairs here in the lounge," he added quickly when he saw Leonard's eyebrows shoot up.

"Oh no you don't, young un," Leonard said. "This little tart's not done anything but raise ruckus since she came in from Cyril. I'll let her sleep in the attic. It's warm, and quite comfy. But the first time, anything," he leaned into Beth's face to emphasize the point, "and I mean anything happens, you're out on the streets. Do you ken?"

"Yes, now where's my wine?"

Leonard slammed a fat green bottle onto the bar. "Here's your headache juice, you little runt. That should keep you quiet for a while."

As Leonard trundled off, Beth just smirked and popped the cork off of the curious bottle in front of her. "Kupo, have you ever had Firebird before?"

"I'm afraid not," Arthur said, accepting the bottle. He took a sniff first. "Not much as far as a bouquet goes, bottoms up." He took a sip, then started hacking. The stuff felt like fire going down his throat.

Beth just laughed as she took back the bottle. "Good old Firebird, kupo. Cheap as dirt and an alcohol content kupo enough to power an airship."

"It tastes like gas at any rate," Arthur said. "Leonard, do you have any Kudik Peak draft? I need a little something to wash the taste of that out of my mouth."

"Good choice," Leonard said, knocking a tap on one of the barrels lining the bar's wall. "Do you know anything about spirits yourself?"

"No, I just know some people." He looked at the froth floating on top of the dark sweet liquid and took a deep breath. It smelled sweet, but the hops were still distinguishable. He took a hearty swig and smiled. This was a beer even a priest could get away with drinking.

"Let me try some of that, kupo," Beth said and snatched Arthur's tankard away before downing it all in one gulp. "Mmm, not much kick to it, but it is yummy. I think I'll stick to my wine."

"Beth," Arthur said, looking her in the eyes, "that is not wine. It did come from grapes, it may even have been wine at one point in time, but now it is just a vivid shade of bottled pain."

For some reason, this set Beth into hysterics. It might have been the fact that at this point she had consumed enough alcohol to drop any of the hardiest bar regulars at the Bug, but it was genuine laughter nonetheless. Arthur started to get in the spirit too, and started to laugh. It was interesting, but they had just met each other a few minutes ago, and here they were laughing together.

"Arthur?" Beth said, breaking into his thoughts.

"Yes Beth?"

"Do you know how flans mate, kupo?"

If Adramalach, the legendary boy from the other world Marche, and twelve midget dragons barged in singing Europa And The Pirate Twins by Thomas Dolby at that moment, Arthur's expression would not have changed at all. The question was just so random he had no idea how to respond. "Uhh, no?"

"Kupo, the female flan eats the male flan. His genetics are mixed into hers, then four baby flans bud off from the mother kupo. There elemental affinity is randomly chosen."

"That's," Arthur searched for a decent adjective. "Quite, um, enlightening. But where did that come from?"

"Where did what come from kupo?"

"That idea. What possessed you to explain to me how flans mate? We weren't talking about anything remotely near that. We weren't even talking. We were laughing. And before that we were drinking. Not once was anything mentioned having to do with flans, mating, or any combination of the two."

"Yer funny," she said. Then she giggled, said kupo, and fell off of the stool snoring.

You know how I said Arthur's expression couldn't have changed after that question? I lied. His poor conservative mind, which had been cloistered in a monk's cell at a monastery somewhere south of Sprohm since birth just couldn't comprehend this. He looked to Leonard, hoping he could give him some kind of rational idea to grasp onto.

"She does that every time. Just carry her up to the attic. Or if you're feeling mean, hoist her onto the roof. I won't tell, and I assure you she won't wake up until the crack of noon."

"I," Arthur started with quivering lips, "I'm going to bed."

He shakily got up and hobbled up to his room. This whole ordeal had firmly cemented the belief that outside the monastery lie nothing but insanity. In his state of shock, he forgot to carry Beth up, so she just laid there, happily snoring away, as innocent as a little angel.

"Well, looks like I get to hoist her on the roof," Leonard said, his voice perfectly neutral, but with his eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "This'll make you think twice about not paying you're tab."

**And there we have it. Things seem to be going swimmingly, though if I had a few more reviews, I'll be sure to work extra hard for you beautiful folks. Take care, and good night.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Attention everyone, I am not dead! Not even slightly. Real life just caught up as it often does. But the keyboard kept calling to me, and without further ado, here is the third epic chapter to the Hitchhiker's Guide series! No one kill me please.**

_The four legendary kids from the other world left Ivalice in shambles. The totema had been defeated, the royal family was no more, and a ridiculous amount of money and royalties that had been under their ownership were suddenly without an owner. All in all, it was a ridiculous state of affairs. All seemed lost, then a great figure came, towering above all such problems, determined to right everything. Except he didn't exactly tower. He was all of three and a half feet tall. But gosh darn, if he wasn't the cutest little revolutionary of all time. His name was Montblanc. Having actually served on the same clan as the legendary Marche, he seized the original Clan Nutsy funds and sent out envoys to representatives of the various cities and territories of Ivalice. Bangaa priests from Roda, nu mou philosophers from Cadoan, vierra chiefs from the Salikawood, human business moguls hailing from Cyril, moogle merchants and engineers from Baguba, these were people who held serious power. He rented out a pub in Cyril during the hottest part of the summer and asked them one question. What now?_

_They quickly came to the agreement that a new governmental body had to be established and that was precisely where the agreements ended. The greatest people in all of Ivalice, the most powerful warriors, richest merchants, most intelligent thinkers, all degenerated into whiny little babies. It seemed as if no agreement would be reached._

_The humans wished to reestablish another monarchy as a figure head, but then have the government run by representatives of various private groups, businesses and schools and such, carefully organized into different administrative commissions. The moogles quickly shot this idea down, as it was too bureaucratic and cumbersome. In the words of an old mog knight who was representing Baguba, "kupo, with an administration like this, you'd need to file triplicates to eight different commissions just to ask if you could use the privy during a meeting."_

_The nu mou came up with the idea of a minimal government, where all money was consolidated in the government and then equally tolled out to all citizens, ensuring complete equality. The moogle airship merchants quickly cut this one out, as if that actually happened, they would no longer be rich._

_The vierra campaigned for an even freer mode of government. None to be exact. They said that everyone should just stay out of everyone's business. Unsurprisingly, the moogles pointed out that anarchy wouldn't work for the established cities._

_The bangaa outlined a strong centralized theocracy, where the clergy of the various totema ruled over the land. It was a pretty sound proposition, but invariably the moogles pointed out the clergy would have too much power. Finally, a particularly irritated bishop grabbed up one of the moogle delegates and quite politely but firmly told him to shut up unless they had any idea._

_To this, the moogles showed a plan they were working on. It showed how three committees divided up the power of the government. The Divine committee represented the priests and theologists, the Magic committee represented wizards and the like, and the Mundane committee represented everything else. Though the numbers of the three committees varied, they each held equal representation in making laws. The army was run by three commanders, one from each committee, and the Nine Judgemasters were likewise from each of the three committees. It was an excellent plan. Streamlined, but not arbitrary, and with plenty of room for customization. The delegates were pleased. At last, they had come to a worthwhile conclusion._

_It was because of how excellent the plan was that its ridiculous failure was all the more embarrassing._

"Quigley, do you think it was wise to have sent Arthur on his holy mission alone?"

Quigley, a short fat bangaa who had served as a priest of St. Grigori for seventy years now, could never remember an odder bangaa becoming the abbot to the mission house. Paul had all the requirements of a good abbot. Highly intelligent, fervent in his will to serve Adramalach, he even happened to have some money sense, something their particular church was in dire need of. But the poor boy could never stop overanalyzing his decisions. It could have been anything, from where to put the new statue of Adramalach to who should tend the herb garden. He once saw him with his breakfast consisting of bowl of porridge and fruit, muttering to himself that perhaps he should have went with the fried eggs.

"I think Arthur will be fine, your grace. He's a good head on his shoulders."

"Yes, but maybe he needed someone older, just to have helped him through the basics. I worry if he's even making money. That's half the trouble with these deplorable things. We have nothing to give to the priests when they go out, they spend most of their time raising money to actually do what they were sent out to."

Quigley just shook his head. "Honestly your grace, I couldn't think of anyone who'd do better than Arthur. You made a good decision. Just leave it at that."

Father Paul just sunk deeper into the boiling water of his bath, still unconvinced. "Quigley, I never wanted to be an abbot."

"I know," said Quigley. "Too many decisions, right?"

"Yes. I mean, these kids are going out into the world at my command, they're starving and working themselves to death all because I told them to. And there are so many options to choose from!" he exclaimed, starting to work himself into hysterics, "I've thought of five other decisions I could have made for Arthur's mission, just sitting here in the bath!! Decisions follow me around, showing me far better things I could have done, they haunt me, Quigley!! Haunt me!!!"

Quigley calmly poured a bucket of ice cold water on his superior's head. "Feel better now, your grace?"

Breathing deeply, Paul calmly said, "Yes Quigley, thank you. I needed that."

"We all need to just blow off some steam sometimes, your grace."

"Yes, I suppose so, Quigley. Thank you."

"So, would you like your blue or green towel today?"

"Erm, would you mind choosing for me, Quigley?"

"Of course, your grace."

"Thank you again, Quigley."

"No thanks necessary, your grace."

It had been two weeks since Arthur had left the monastery, and things were looking just as hopeless. He had been washing dishes and scrubbing floors for Leonard to get money, but most of it was going to his room and board. Beth was doing her part as well, helping Leonard serve drinks, and cooking in the back, with some interesting results.

"What is this stuff, you diminutive witch?!" exclaimed Leonard. He was pointing at a pot that was on the wood stove. It was bubbling over with a yellowish liquid that contained chicken and some vegetables. "I distinctly asked you to make a pot of stew! This is not stew!"

"It's curry, kupo," Beth explained.

"It's yellow!" Leonard roared. "How do you expect us to serve this slop to our customers?!"

"I can float a couple of dollops of animal fat in there if that'll help kupo," Beth said without smiling.

"This is an outrage! It's only through the goodness of my crusty black heart that you're still here, and I just need to turn my back, and you're making pig swill!"

"Hey, Beth," Arthur called from the front of the bar, "do you still have some of that yellow stuff you put on rice? It was quite tasty."

"I still have a bit, kupo," she called back, "I'll bring it in a second."

She spooned some of the curry onto a plate of rice and brought it out to Arthur, but not before shooting a smug glance at Leonard.

Fuming, Leonard took a wooden spoon from off the kitchen counter and tasted Beth's creation. Then he spooned some rice on a second plate and dumped some of it on top of that.

"Bloody little rodent and her bloody yellow mumble grumble."

Arthur looked up from his lunch to see Leonard lumber over to him. He saw the plate in his hand and grinned. "It's good, isn't it?"

Leonard just let out a derisive "Hmph." and sat down beside Arthur.

"Hey Leonard, do you know any odd jobs I can do for some extra gil? I'm on my last leg as far as money goes, and I don't think I'll be able to pay you this week, even if I scrub floors and wash the windows and everything."

"That's a shame lad," Leonard. "I'll ask some of the regulars tonight and I'll tell you if there's anything for you."

"Thanks."

"Anytime." They spent a few moments chewing contemplatively. Then Leonard asked, "Arthur, I really doubt that your monastery sent you out on a holy mission to be an errand boy here in Sprohm. Is there any reason that you're trying to make money?"

"Well, I'm not really making money, per se. I mean, if I can while I'm here, that would be really useful, but I'm actually waiting for someone. It was prophesized I would meet someone here in Sprohm."

"Prophecy, eh?" Leonard said thoughtfully. "Sound's like you're on an important mission."

"Not really. All missions are attached to a prophecy of some kind. The event is preceded by prophecy, but without the hero, there is no event. The job of a mission is to make sure the hero makes it to the event so it can happen. It can be anything from transporting an engineer to Cyril to helping build a new chapter house."

"That does sound important though."

"Maybe, though I hope it isn't anything too big. I'd rather be back at the monastery."

"Oh well lad," Leonard said, and took up his and Arthur's plates, "good luck to you. You can start preparing for your mission by washing the dishes."

Arthur smiled and got up. Well, he thought to himself, all journeys start with a step.

The Bitter Old Bug, or just the Bug, was a rather successful pub. It had eleven or twelve regulars who came in and bought a drink or two everyday, so the pub itself wasn't overly flashy or eye catching. It really wasn't made to pull in people, just to keep the people who had the good sense to be there comfortable.

Most of these people were large bangaa, city guards and such, with a few burly humans as well. A few ran weapon shops and the like, and all in all they acted like well behaved pirates. They leered at Beth, but never touched her, and insulted Leonard, but just laughed when he did the same, and though most only went to church on principle, and only when they remembered to, they were all respectful of Arthur, a few even went to him for benediction.

"Hey, Leonard!" called Howard, a bangaa blacksmith, "Do you have anything besides dirty bathwater to swill?"

"Shut your fat face, Howard," Leonard shouted good naturedly and slid a tankard of mead his way. "Now do any of you layabouts have some work for our resident holy man? If not, I'll have to kick him out and leave him to rot on the cold Sprohm streets."

"I have a little something his lady friend could do for me, kupo!" sniggered Klaus, a surprisingly tall and broad moogle who worked at Howard's forge.

"Oh shut it Klaus! Beth would burn your hands if they went anywhere near her," Leonard said and not unkindly bashed Klaus's head into the bar as if to say, "that went a bit to far, old lad. Have a care next time".

"I've got some work for him," came the low rumbling of Bacchus. His voice had always reminded Arthur of bass drums and thunderstorms. Bacchus was the largest bangaa that Arthur had ever seen. He was broader of shoulder than Leonard, stood half a head taller than Arthur, and had a stomach of truly epic proportions. Under the fat you could see coils of rippling muscle and sinew like steel cable. He was the Sprohm librarian.

"The Great Library at St Grigori's monastery is asking for explorers. They're going to do an excavation of some of the corridors, and the Sprohm Public Library is funding for our own team. We get to keep any books we find that are not needed by the Great Library, you see, so it's in our best interest to do this."

"How long would this be?" asked Arthur. This sounded like the opportunity Arthur had been waiting for. He could finally go back to a monastery, and as a monk of Saint Grigori, it was an excellent opportunity to make a pilgrimage to the order's ancestral home.

"I'll sign you on for a two month charter. One hundred and twenty gil a day per team member, and the library covers all expenses. Room, board, transportation, everything." He took a mighty gulp from his beer stein, which was roughly as big as Arthur's head. "So what do you think, you organize the team, do the excavation, and we pay you. Are we in agreement?"

Arthur grinned. Truly this was an excellent occasion. It even coincided with the prophecy.

And the man you seek is one like you,

Who delves in books and dusty tomes

Though his surface you must look through,

As he looks as he will snap your bones

"Mr. Bacchus," Arthur said, his voice quivering with excitement, "you have a deal."

"So you're just going like that, kupo?" Beth asked Arthur after everyone had left, and he was busying himself by sweeping the floor.

"Well, I'll need to get a team together, but yeah, that seems to be it. This part of the prophecy has been fulfilled, so there's nothing more for me here."

"Kupo," said Beth quietly. "So do you think you'll need a good black mage?"

"I can't let you come, Beth," Arthur said, realizing where the conversation was going.

"Why the fuck not?!" Beth exclaimed angrily.

"Beth, I'd rather you didn't-"

"I'll say what the fuck I want however I kupo fucking want to say it! Why can't I come, kupo?!"

"You're seventeen, and thus considered a minor by Sprohm statutes. The library can't have minors on the team because of the lawsuit possibilities, and you're from a well known family, so-"

"Shut up about my family, kupo!" Beth said with a surprising amount of anger, "No matter where I go, it's always the kupo fucking same. Everyone says 'what's a Winston doing at a place like this?' or 'here, your ladyship, allow me to help.' Only you and Leonard treated me like what I am."

"What you are," Arthur said severely, "is a spoiled brat whose mouth desperately needs a washing. Beth, I like you. But you can't come, and that's final." Seeing the look on her face, Arthur added "look, in two months time, I'll be going back to my monastery. I'll stop here and maybe we can-"

"If I ever see you again," Beth said, her voice low and threatening, "I'll fry you like an oversized turkey, kupo." With those parting words, she ran up to her room in the attic.

"She'll be better in the morning, lad," Leonard said as he plodded over to Arthur.

"Did you notice," Arthur said slowly, "through our entire conversation, she never let me finish once?"

**And chapter three closes with a bittersweet ending. The story's starting to gain momentum now, so let's see where it takes us shall we? Seriously, I'm as much in the dark as you people. Also, two things to say to my prized reviewer Sage. One, your time in the spotlight is coming. Two, I had absolutely no idea who Terry Pratchett was until about two weeks ago, when I read Soul Music, and am now proud to call myself a citizen of the Discworld. Thanks for the name. And as a general bit of trivia, this takes place about ninety years after the new government of Ivalice had been put into motion, just so you know. And here's Tomai, signing off.**


	4. Chapter 4

**And the next chapter rolls in! I'd like to welcome anyone from the FFTA forum who is reading this for the first time. I hope you enjoy, guys! **

_When the Judgemasters of Ivalice were reelected after the moogle's plan was put into action, three Judgemasters of the different committees were assigned a region. There was the southern region, the northern region, and the coastal region. The southern region encompassed Sprohm, Cyril, and its surrounding territories. Among the Judgemasters of this place were Peter Gustav, a former templar of the order of St. Gordon and Isaac Winston, a young moogle who went from being a beggar in Baguba to becoming Dean of the Cyril School of Elemental Arts, the foremost school of black magic in the country. There was also Katzu Cross, a fighter whose prowess in battle was legendary. The southern region was a place with a robust monster population and treacherous territory, so naturally it was also prime real estate for clans. Many came in and started to stake claims to parts as their turf. Each of the Judgemasters were able to appoint people as lesser judges who would oversee conflicts, and Katzu soon found out how to exploit this. You see, Katzu was a man of ambition. He had lived by his sword for most of his life, but he soon realized that true power came not from strength, but from people. People under your control and at your beck and call. He elected old friends from his clan and their family, people who would be loyal to him, as judges. Then he began favoring the larger clans, giving them special indulgences from the laws and often tipping them off to places with unusual treasure and such. In return, these clans pledged their loyalty to Katzu, and if at any time, an upstart clan had to be put down or a group of heroes were getting too powerful for the Judges, Katzu's colleagues saw that things got done. _

_This was soon learned by Ezel Berbier, without a doubt the greatest alchemist who ever lived in Ivalice and no friend of authority of any kind, when he woke up one day in Cyril to find a group of ninjas in his room and twelve blades trained to his throat. His last words were, "Get someone to water my tulips, will you?" before his head was severed. _

_When the Judgemasters investigated, they found no evidence of who actually killed him. Though not in any way happy that he was killed, they didn't press the investigation. Ezel was a person who was a thorn in any governments side, always willing to point out its faults to other people, and they all agreed that things would run smoother without him._

_Despite the very severe penalties for causing trouble, would be clanners were flooding into the southern region. They often organized secondary clans that attached to one of the larger clans in the region, and thus got the benefits of being favored by Katzu. Pretty soon, only three or four clans remained, and all were on Katzu's payroll. They represented some of the best clans in all of Ivalice, and together, about two thirds of its warrior population. Though a mere Judgemaster, Katzu practically owned his own private army and all wealth attached to it. He was literally the most powerful man in Ivalice, and he was not one to let all this power go to waste._

_Twenty years after the Reformation of Ivalice, Katzu sacked the town of Cyril and declared himself Supreme Judgemaster of New Ivalice._

"So do you have any prior experience in excavation or fighting monsters?" Arthur asked wearily to a boy who couldn't have been over seventeen.

"Well no sir, but I used to go camping every year in Roda with my folks."

Arthur rubbed his fatigued eyes. Sweet Adramalach, things could not have gone worse. The problem with trying to raise a team for this expedition was that he might as well have tried to make a wolf pack out of very angry Schnauzers. Anyone fit for the job was working for the government. If he wasn't part of the palace guard he was in one of the Four Clans. The Clans did rent out people for jobs, but they were so expensive only really rich people could afford them, and the Sprohm Public Library was in no way rich.

"Fine, thank you, young man. We'll call you."

As the boy walked out, Arthur waved for Leonard. "Could you get me a bottle of Firebird?"

Leonard shook his head and smiled as he slid the oddly shaped bottle to Arthur. "I thought you didn't much care for this stuff."

"I hate it," Arthur said and drank a rather large gulp of the stuff. "But Beth always seemed happier after drinking some of this."

Ah, Beth. Shortly after Arthur took the job to go to Roda, she disappeared. She left nothing but a sack filled with gil equaling her bar tab at the Bug. Arthur was crushed, but unfortunately he had taken a job, so he busied himself with organizing it to forget about her. Though it didn't work, he was rewarded with a huge heap of logistical problems. Equipment was easy enough to come by, many of the Bug's regulars were the finest craftsmen in the city. Howard and Klaus were by far the most generous, providing fine picks, shovels, trowels, and even said they'd fill in orders for weapons when they were needed, though it seemed that at this rate, Arthur was going to have to be acting bodyguard as well as project supervisor.

It wasn't that he wasn't a good warrior. He was a white monk after all, and the St Grigori monks were no nonsense type fighters. Taking out a small book, he flipped to one page and smiled. On it was a wood print under which there was a small anecdote by St Grigori saying "Kick them in the nadgers!". The wood print was an artist rendition of the bangaa monk himself forcefully kicking an unfortunate assailant in the fork of his legs. That pretty much summed up the St. Grigori take on fighting. They weren't honorable like the monks of St Markus, none had the physical prowess of a St Stephan priest, and only the most seasoned campaigners became monks of St Gordon, so they saw their only advantage was to fight without any scruples. Arthur was sure he would make a passable guard.

"The problem is," Arthur said to Leonard after another draught of Firebird, "I'll drive myself crazy if I do everything, but who in the name Kupo Hell is going to help us for just one hundred and twenty gil a day? Anyone who would take that has no idea what to do, and anyone with experience is worth my monastery five times over."

"Kupo Hell?" Leonard asked.

"Beth explained it to me," Arthur elucidated. "If a moogle doesn't say kupo, or doesn't do it properly enough, when they die they go to Kupo Hell and learn how to use it before being reincarnated as another moogle to try again."

"Did she have a few of these when she was explaining?" Leonard said while shaking the now half empty wine bottle. Or half full, depending on how you people look at it.

"She did," Arthur conceded, smiling a bit. "She was always trying to teach me stuff when she was drunk."

But now the conversation had directed itself on a slightly more painful course. The two bangaa fellows winced a bit as they remembered Beth.

"She was always quite fiery," Leonard finally said, "I wouldn't be surprised if she was here in two months waiting for you."

Arthur just nodded slowly. The foul wine was beginning to get a hold of him and as often happens with people under the influence, he started to think painful thoughts. He thought of how much Beth smiled and how she always made jokes about being fat, but she was rather slender, just much… curvier than most girls. He remembered her excellent cooking, and especially that yellow curry that always got Leonard so angry. The past month flashed before his eyes, and he was not surprised to find himself crying.

He really liked Beth. It wasn't like he even lusted after her, for reasons of celibacy and biological difficulties, but he really liked her. He always remembered when bangaa girls would come to the monastery to bathe in the boiling sulfur springs that made their scales glisten so pleasingly, and he always preferred there company to his fellow monks. He just enjoyed being in the presence of girls. And Beth was most definitely the closest friend he had ever had.

"Um, excuse me, sir?" a voice said, swimming through Arthur's alcohol congested consciousness.

He blearily looked up then down again, and saw a Nu Mou looking at him at eye level. As far as Nu Mous go, this one was rather spectacular. At a glance he looked like an ordinary Nu Mou, rather dumpy, with a wide base and tapering shoulders. This one had his white hair trimmed rather short, almost military. There were two odd things about him though. The first was that he had a beard, which only the oldest Nu Mous get, though he looked no older than forty. Second, he practically radiated magic. Arthur, who had been trained to sense magic by touch, sight, and even smell could tell he this Nu Mou was a giant magic battery. He reeked of it, and Arthur could even see the magic energy skirt across his hair and beard like small lightning bolts.

"Um, may I help you, sir?" Arthur said.

"Are you Arthur Macfust?" the Nu Mou asked. It was strange, but he rumbled, like when Bacchus spoke.

"I am sir. Would you be here to join the expedition to the Roda Monastery of St Grigori the wise?"

"My apprentice and I, yes. Come along, Matthias."

"Call me Matt," came a slightly muffled voice from outside. "Could someone get the door for me?"

Arthur, still slightly drunk but very interested now, lurched to the door and opened it up, to reveal a young man, maybe nineteen or so. He wasn't all that interesting, a scrawny sort of chap with light brown hair and dark brown eyes. He was wearing a pair of brown breeches and a light blue smock over an off-white under shirt, and his knee high socks were of the uninteresting woolen variety. Was it not for the curved sword at his left side and the definite smell of magic about him, Arthur could easily see him as an apprentice printer or wood carver. His voice had been muffled by carrying what appeared to be five bags of varying sizes in his arms.

"Do you need some help?" Arthur asked, peeking behind the luggage.

Matt's face was a picture of relief. "Would you? Master apparently never grasped that sages are supposed to travel light."

Arthur turned and looked at the Nu Mou in astonished silence. A sage? Only Nu Mous who were masters of the forces of nature could ever dream of taking that title. Yet it seemed to fit. He had power, like a bear or a storm had power, raw and without guile.

Arthur hurriedly helped Matt with the bags and sat down beside the Nu Mou. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, sir."

"That's because I didn't give it," the Nu Mou said. "My name is Roland, and I would like to offer my services to you on your expedition."

"As a sage?" Arthur asked tentatively.

"In a sense," Roland said vaguely.

"What do you mean by that, pardon my asking."

"Well," Roland's eyes unfocused a bit. "I was a sage at one point, a long time ago, many decades before you were born, I'm sure."

"How old are you?" Arthur asked, Roland didn't look any more than twelve years older then him.

"One hundred and twenty seven, give or take," Matt piped up as Roland had opened his mouth. "I'm doing you a favor, Mr Macfust. Master's as long winded as they come."

"I think a story such as mine is worthy of a bit of ceremony," Roland said, slightly annoyed.

"He was part of the original Clan Nutsy," Matt went on, "after the clan disbanded he got a nice cave near Cadoan and decided to live the hermit's life."

"A hermit living outside of a large city?" Arthur asked curiously.

"I don't see why I must give up all earthly comforts to live and austere life of poverty," Roland said indignantly.

"Master likes whiskey and young women," Matt once again interjected, as Roland's long ears started to redden. "He did work on magic theory in between getting himself and young nu mou ladies drunk though. He was working on ways to naturally amplify spell effects, among other things. It seemed that while he was working on an improved sleep spell when lightning hit, the spell activated, and he nodded off for about ninety three years."

"So why are you saturated in magic and aren't a sage anymore?" Arthur asked.

"The answer to the first question is that magic is," Roland searched for a word, "symbiotic. It exists naturally, but is pulled to certain things. Beings, for instance. It's how a mage can replenish his mana. I slept for ninety odd years, surrounded by magical items. The items decayed, magic leaked out, and all the magic went into me. It's probably the reason why I didn't age, though natural processes of my body continued. Hair growth, for instance," he said, stroking his beard. "As to the lack of my sagacity skill, well, I haven't done any magic for a long time. My muscle memory is lacking, and I shall have to start from square one again. My knowledge is still there though, so I can take on an apprentice. And speaking of whom," he said, motioning to Matt, " my tobacco pouch if you would, Matthias."

Matt grumbled a bit and opened one of the smaller bags amongst the pile of luggage, and tossed a fat pouch to his master. Roland opened it up, and ceremonially took out a venerable old pipe, black and glossy from lacquer, and tapped a large amount of golden tobacco into the pouch, lit it, and took a deep breath. "Young Matthias is learning how to master the magic of the natural world, and has taken an affinity to magic of the bestial persuasion. Do you smoke, young man?" he asked, offering the tobacco pouch.

Arthur shook his head. "I was under the impression that it was a habit for powerful mages and idiots."

Roland laughed, and smoke curled out of his mouth. Taking another long pull at his pipe, he blew out a perfect white smoke ring that floated lazily across the room and up the bar's chimney. Matt just rolled his eyes and asked for a lager. Leonard slid the stein to the apprentice and looked at Roland. "Anything for you, sir?"

"Just some tea with milk and sugar, good sir," Roland answered. Leonard poured some boiling water from a kettle battered from countless instances of it being used as a weapon in a good natured bar fight over a tea cup filled with some tea leaves and let it sit after adding some of yesterday's milk and a two spoonfuls of sugar. After letting it sit for five minutes, he gave the cup to Roland. "Thank you, master barkeep," Roland said smiling, and took a small flask from his kilt. Did I mention he was wearing a kilt? He was, and it was one of those full body kilts that goes across a shoulder. Under it, he was wearing a dark brown tunic, and serviceable steel toed battle boots. He poured some golden liquid out of it into the cup and took a long drink.

"Must you put whiskey in everything, Master?" Matt asked wearily.

"You will show proper respect to your Master," Roland said severely, and took another sip of tea.

Roland spent the rest of the night drinking whiskey laced tea and smoking like a chimney in winter. Arthur realized if it wasn't for the magic coursing through his veins, Roland's lungs would have looked as if they were coated in tar and his liver would have swollen to twice its size. Roland regaled him with stories of being in Clan Nutsy, and told dirty jokes, and acted very un-sagelike in general.

Finally, after his fifth cup of tea, he looked at Arthur and slurred "So, do we have a… a…" and slowly, oh so slowly, he topple out of his chair and onto the floor.

Matt caught both his master's tea cup and pipe before they hit the ground, and looked almost apologetically at Arthur.

"You'll have to excuse Master. He has a tendency to get," he searched for a polite way to describe the state of inebriation his master was in. "Punch drunk. As he was trying to say, do we have a deal?"

Arthur looked from this unassuming boy to the plaid heap snoring mightily on the floor. He wondered if it was sad or amazing these were to be on his team. He finally decided he didn't care and nodded. "You have a deal. You can talk to Leonard for lodgings until I can find some more people for the expedition."

The boy nodded, then dutifully hoisted his master onto his shoulders and took the luggage into his arms. Arthur gazed in wonderment as he climbed up the stairs while carrying a combined weight of what he guessed was three hundred pounds of luggage and Nu Mou. If he worked this hard on the expedition, he probably didn't need to get a manual laborer. Heck, this boy was worth a team of moogle miners.

"Well Leonard, I think I just solved one problem."

Leonard smiled that smile all barkeeps had, the one that at the same time encouraged you but also pointed out you were a loony, and said, "Aye lad, and I think you gained another."

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Arthur said disbelievingly. "You are an engineer who has worked in the silver minds around Muscadet for five years now?"

"That's right kupo."

"You were a master foreman of your own shaft?"

"My résumé was quite specific, kupo."

"Indeed," Arthur said staring at him. "That's why I'm suspicious. So explain to me why you are here, in an animist's cap and a war horn in your hand, as opposed to being in the aforementioned silver mine managing your team?"

"Engineering's fun, but things are getting a bit to boring for me, kupo," the moogle said. He was about Arthur's age, in his late twenties, with long red hair done up in a neat ponytail, and wore the sensible clothes of someone who was going to be camping out for a while. He also wore a pare of thick glasses with copper rims. "My brother Klaus said I could stay here for a week to shake off the boredom, but then I saw your flyer and said 'Joseph kupo, how often does an opportunity like this come up?' So here I am. Do I have the job?"

"Yes," Arthur said looking up to the sky in pious thanks to Adramalach for this engineer. Anyone who had experience with digging or excavation was worth his weight in gold. "Please go to Leonard and ask him for his most expensive beer, and tell him to put it on my tab. You are a godsend."

Joseph grinned and asked Leonard for a quart of Baguba Stout. Moogles were notorious for their resistance to alcohol, and like most moogle concoctions, Arthur half expected the liquid to eat through the giant pewter mug and into the wooden bar.

Arthur took a look through the paperwork. Three writs of consent, a stack of receipts from Howard and Klaus's workshop, a rental for a cargo wagon, a few crates of food, and eight mighty casks of booze, ranging from Arthur's Kudik Peak Draft to a very grumpy barrel of Firebird whisky, which practically growled at anyone that came near. And finally, a lease on a pack chocobo named Bella, a fat female of local persuasion, her feathers dark brown speckled with black, a dirty yellow beak, and two red eyes that showed a resigned bitterness to the world at large. Bella was quite a catch. Sprohm chocobos were known to pull a cart for eight days without stopping, provided you could get it to move. Bella wasn't one of those bright gold chargers the guards rode on. For one thing, she could probably peck one of their eyes out and stamp on its beautiful coat of plumage before it could lay a talon on her. She was the perfect chocobo for their expedition.

"Well, gentlemen, everything seems to be in order," he said to his group. A hard drinking Nu Mou, a straight laced sword wielding mage of some sort, and now this young dandy of an animist. He didn't know whether he should laugh or cry, so he did neither. "Let us be off."

Roland an Matt sat in the front, with the apprentice grabbing hold of the reigns, and Arthur and Joseph clambered into the back of the cart. And so, without little fan faire, the expedition set off. Bella was trotting at a good pace, not quick, but getting the distance between them and Sprohm. Pretty soon, they were out of the city limits and in the plains and farmland outside the city. The four men on board were in high spirits, talking to each other and laughing. Arthur smiled and laughed at yet another inappropriate joke from Roland. It looked as if things were going perfectly.

"Kupo!" Joseph exclaimed as he examined one of the booze barrels. "I didn't know we had Firebird! I'll have a bit of that, kupo!" He got out the small mug that was as much a fixture for moogles as their long ears and red puff balls, and turned the spigot. A few drops came out, but not much liquid flowed forth. Curious, Joseph shook the barrel, and there was the definite slosh of wine, but he opened the spigot all the way and no wine was yielded.

"It looks like something clogged it up," Arthur said.

"I'll take a look inside, kupo." He then took out a small crowbar that had been somewhere on his person amongst the other ten or twenty tools he kept on him and pried the lid open. "Arthur?" he asked quietly as he peered into it.

"Yes"

"Either that stout got to me," he said in a quietly confused voice, "or there's a half naked moogle chick in this barrel."

Arthur curiously stood up on the wagon's bed and peered into the barrel, to be rewarded with two big brown eyes looking up at him. "Hello, Beth," he said, the shock keeping him from raising his voice.

"Kupo, I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

**Bum, Bum, BUUMMM!! So once again, I leave you at a cliff hanger. Read and Review, my reading public! Only through your acknowledgement will my ego grow to the size necessary to enslave the country Denmark! Do it for my glorious cause, and help me take over the mother land of Vikings!!**


	5. Chapter 5

**And so, real life has caught up with me again. Oh well. This one's a tiny bit longer though, so I hope you enjoy it. I'm starting to get the main story for this fic fleshed out, and I think it's going to be something pretty cool. So, once more into the breach, chaps. Onward!**

_Alcohol is like the blood of Ivalice. It flows into every part of it and keeps things running. When Katzu started his uprising, not even the government had the power to stop him, but a few breweries from the Northern Region had enough money to hire a sizeable chunk of the remaining free clans, and even bought some of the lower ranking clans from under Katzu's nose. This place is now called Bierlond, and is a small country that encompasses most of the northern border of what Ivalice once was, excluding Roda, which was declared a neutral ground after Katzu unsuccessfully attempted to besiege the monastery of St Grigori. This was his way of saying the monks gave him what for._

_Though there are many different types of alcohol drank, each of the species have their preferences. Humans prefer pale ales and lagers, which Bangaa disparagingly call lemonade and Moogles sometime confuse with tepid water. Nu Mou tend toward ancient wines, which they casually sip, and sages often enjoy strong spirits. Bangaa like black ales, full of flavor and alcohol, which they don't drink, but quaff. A full-grown Bangaa, women included, is known to quaff almost three pints of ale in one sitting, and while priests rarely quaff, they're known to drink just as much, if not more._

_However, all other species seem teetotalers in comparison to Moogles. There's a tale that the Moogle's famous wine, Firebird, was created when a couple of airship engineers knocked a can of fuel over into a pewter mug already filled with strong wine. It should be noted that Moogles drink everything from beer to scotch in pewter mugs that they often keep on their person. The engineers, who decided it was worth possibly being poisoned to finish their wine, took a taste and declared that it "tastes like gasoline kupo. But after a few cups of it, I don't think I'd care." This is an urban myth, but some engineers have been known to mix moogle spirits with fuel to stretch it out if they need to. Moogles almost never do this, however, as for them it is a tough choice between going down but drinking or staying alive but without a drop of booze._

The clouds were beginning to spread from the horizon. They were of the thick blanket like variety that indicated snow. Bella finally decided to stop beside a suitable camping area, and the group started to bed down. Young Matt started to set up camp out of habit. Roland was a brilliant sage, and brilliant sages never set up camp. That was what apprentices are for. Roland was busying himself setting up a fire, in hopes of brewing a cup of tea. Joseph was helping Matt and carefully keeping his gaze away from Beth, whose very… curvaceous figure was only superficially covered up by one of Roland's spare kilts and a wine drenched bodice and breeches.

Arthur was just staring at Beth. He was angry. Furious even. He had at least twelve angry rants ready to launch down the young Moogle's throat, but all that came out was "Why?"

"I'd miss you," she said. Beth wasn't scared at all. Besides, she had just traveled a good dozen miles in a barrel of liquor. She was not going to let it end here. "Arthur kupo, just take me. I won't be a burden, and I need this. Kupo, you have no idea how much I need this."

Arthur had to laugh. "You need this eh?" he said wryly. "You need to sleep in the freezing winter around Sprohm wrapped in a blanket that smells like sour milk? You need to trudge across half the country for one hundred and twenty Gil a day, a wage that puts our financial state just below that of a ditch digger? This is what you need?"

"What I need," she said quietly, "is a place to use my skills kupo. You were talking about ditch diggers? I know ditch diggers in Cyril, Baguba, and Muscadet that could tell you the Three Laws of Elemental Instability. Kupo, I even know beggars that graduated above me at my academy. This may be the only chance I have to actually be a black mage, before I go back to Baguba and end up being just another Winston, marry some rich merchant or magistrate and live the rest of my life in the city, kupo." She was crying at this point. Not sobbing, just letting the tears trickle down.

Arthur felt awkward. He had always been a monk, and monks led a hard life. If someone from one of the villages around the monastery was dying or the white mages couldn't do anything, the monks had to go. If it was two in the morning and someone was fading fast, they had to go and do the rites and pray at their bedside until they finally slipped away, and then they helped the loved ones prepare the body and clean the sheets. It was their obligation, their holy duty. He never complained about it or regretted having been raised at the monastery since he was a child, but he did remember seeing a girl once, about nine or ten, who had been eaten away by some blight or the other, whatever it was, and he remembered seeing the longing in her eyes. Her eyes said, please help me, help me or I will die. She died in his arms. That was the day he started to study to be a white monk. Getting torn apart by wild beasts was nothing compared to what he knew the green monks at the monastery had to endure every day.

Those same eyes were staring back at him now. It was almost too much to handle. He sat down and stared back at Beth. "Why," he started, "does this mean so much to you?"

"It's all I have," said Beth, shrugging a bit. "I'm a good black mage and I can make curry kupo, and that's just about it. I wasn't meant for this time. When my grandfather Isaac was Dean, there were so many students that the university had to build three school houses to keep them all. Now they rent them out to keep the creditors away, kupo. I should have been born with Grampa Ike, kupo."

Arthur didn't know what to say. What could he say? He knew he couldn't make the seventeen year old excuse work, Matt looked no older than that, and it was his only validation for not taking her. "Well, it'll only be two months. Beth, you seem to know what you're doing. Welcome aboard."

Beth's eyes lit up and she grinned. "I won't let you down, kupo!"

"No cussing though," Arthur said pointedly.

"You got it kupo!"

Arthur finally allowed himself a smile. "Very good, then. Now, let's get a cup of tea."

They both walked over to the fire place, where everyone had sat down and was drinking hot tea heavily laced with brandy. It was sweet and milky, and the brandy helped drive out the cold. Beth helped herself to a cup of Firebird. Then another. Then another after that. Near the end she was laughing like crazy and singing a rather interesting song, entitled "A mage's rod has a knob on the end". I think I'll let you readers extrapolate what you think it was about on your own. Let's just say that Roland new the words to it as well.

Arthur settled down on a particularly comfortable rock and put his feet into the embers of the fire. Bangaa liked heat, and he almost purred as he felt the hot coals burning between his toes. It also released a strong odor from his feet which smelled mainly of cinnamon. It wasn't bad at all, so the others said nothing of it. Besides, Arthur had put up with a lot these past few days, they decided to let him alone. Within minutes, the monk was blissfully asleep.

Beth was also asleep, curled up close to the expedition's young red headed engineer, who was blushing profusely and his ears were an interesting shade of pink.

"Perhaps we should put those two in the tent. They look a bit bushed," said Roland.

Matt automatically got up and picked up Arthur, who weighed more than him by about thirty pounds, but he lifted him as if he was a child. Joseph carefully picked up Beth and, still blushing, took her to another tent.

"Thanks, boys. You should probably get some sleep yourselves. I have a feeling that tomorrow is going to start early. Now I need to go commune with nature." With this, Roland strode off into the woods around the trail.

The two boys climbed into a tent. After about ten minutes of shifting around in various positions, they managed to lay down comfortably without touching each other. "Well kupo, good night, Matt."

"Same to you, Joseph."

About ten minutes passed. "Your still awake, aren't you kupo?"

"Yep. So, do you want to just talk?"

"Sure, kupo. I've been wanting to ask you how you met your master. I heard that Sages only lived in uninhabitable places to keep away from the government, kupo."

"This one lived outside of Cadoan in a cave that was furnished more extensively than the mayor's estate. You should have seen the place. If it wasn't gilded, it was encrusted with rubies, or trimmed in silver, or at least inlaid with rare wood."

"Kupo, you're serious?"

"All of it," Matt laughed, "it didn't even look good. It was so gaudy it almost made your eyes bleed!"

"He doesn't sound much like a Sage to me kupo," Joseph laughed.

"He is though," Matt said, smiling slightly. "He has this huge bookshelf at his cave. Gold and encrusted jewels of course. Half of the books were written by him. Stuff about the ley lines of Ivalice, where magic was particularly strong. He had bestiaries and huge tomes filled with recipes for magic items. It was ridiculous. Kind of like him. He must have been working and researching nonstop for at least twenty years. It's an honor to be his apprentice."

The two young men sat in silence for a while before Joseph said, "So what do Sages do when they commune with nature anyway, kupo?"

"Master usually just uses the bathroom."

"… Kupo."

"Yep."

"Um, I think we should get to bed now, kupo."

"I agree. Good night, Joseph."

"Good night, Matt."

At that exact moment, a rather interesting conversation was happening as our heroes were sleeping and "communing with nature".

"So, what do you think?" came a shady voice from behind a bush.

"I think we've hit the jack pot," came another voice. "Can you imagine, travelers on our back road? We could make a fortune turning them in."

"Yeah, did you see their cart? A lot of that's high quality stuff. And look at all that booze!"

"Not so loud!" came the other voice urgently, "come on. We'll get them early in the morning."

"What?" said the other voice disbelievingly, "why not right now? They're just sleeping! And that sage is gone, so we won't have to worry about him!"

"Shut up!" hissed the other voice again, "We can't. Did you see the big lizard? He's a monk. Holy men get immunity when traveling. They're allowed to go on any roads without having to pay tolls, and we aren't allowed to jump them."

"So what are we going to do in the morning?"

"We'll just have a little… inspection of their cart. Confiscate a few things, see? Nothing we can do, it's the law and all that. Terribly sorry."

"But what about the people? We can't confiscate them, can we?"

"No, bonehead!" the other voice whispered irritably. "But if they attempt to take the stuff we're confiscating, we can book them for obstruction of justice."

"And then we can jump them, right?"

The other voice gave an exasperated sigh. "Yes, then we can jump them. Now come on. We need to get the rest of the gang ready. And tell them to polish their armor. We have to look official."

And at the exact same time as this, yet another interesting conversation was going on.

Roland had just finished "communing with nature" and was starting to head back to camp when a giant panther got in his way. The big cat stood almost as high as Roland at its shoulder, and its sharp yellow fangs had permanent stains of dried blood on them. It only had one eye, which was small and orange, and the other eye was permanently closed behind a nasty gash that ripped the head from its left ear down to its nose.

"I was hoping to meet you here, Barnabas. It appears that you finally figured out how to make that eternal life potion you were talking about."

The panther growled in response and seemed to curl in on itself. For a few seconds there were some very disturbing noises that sounded both wet and crunchy at the same time, and then a nu mou, also with a beard, stood in front of Roland. Like Roland, he was a bit more solidly built than most of his kind, with a wild main of white hair that was tied back into a pony tail that looked like a silver fire coming from the back of his head. This wild looking nu mou was dressed rather simplistically, with some animal skins over a light mail tunic and a ragged old cloth hat.

"Good to see you too, Roland," Barnabas growled. "Actually, it isn't exactly eternal. I just slowed down my body's aging to the point that I age one year for every fifteen I live. I think that's more than enough life than I'll want anyway. So why are you still looking so young yourself?"

Roland told his friend the story of his magical blunder, heavily embellished, of course. "So you've aged, hmmm, six years since I last saw you? Yes, that appears accurate. I must ask though, are there any other members of clan Nutsy still alive?"

"Ninety odd years is quite an age, Roland," Barnabas grinned. His teeth were very odd. It seemed that being a morpher for so long had made a bit of the monster rub off on him. He had fangs, and all his teeth were razor sharp. "You planning on hosting a reunion?"

"What I'm planning is starting a revolution, Barnabas," Roland said seriously. "I'm sure you've noticed that Ivalice has changed for the worse since I've been sleeping, and I aim to do something about it. I'm working for a bunch of kids right now. They're all very good. In another time, they'd have made an excellent clan. My apprentice is even learning blue magic! He's the first I've seen in decades! Barnabas, I need help. Can you tell me anyone from our days that's still alive?"

Barnabas sighed and thought. "I think there's still that one boy, the paladin, Tony. All that white magic and good karma probably helped. He's captain of the guard in a rather large Cathedral. Somewhere in Bierlond, if I recall. Do you know where that is?"

"Yes. We happen to be going near there. What about Ezel? Alchemists have a tendency to stay around, and Ezel would have done it just to annoy the new government."

"Dead," Barnabas spat out the word. "Killed by some of Katzu's goons about eighty years ago. I think Tony's the only one, Roland. Good luck, I suppose."

"You're not going to help, Barnabas? An old war horse like you would be much appreciated."

Barnabas looked at Roland wearily. "You made it to the party a bit to late, Roland. There has been revolution. Many times, as a matter of fact. They've all failed. I was in a good few of them. I started a good few. Each time, we were either killed or forced to retreat. Katzu loves revolutionaries. He makes examples of them. Remember Sybil and Macgregor, that Vierra red mage and her templar beau? They were crucified. Then their bellies were slit. Guts everywhere, Roland. They ended up dying of blood loss a day and half later, with flies picking at their innards while they were still alive. The lucky ones made it to Bierlond before it had to close its boundaries because refugees were flooding in. I'm through with revolutionaries, Roland. If you want to convince me, show me an army."

Roland took all the information he had just been given in. It was quite sobering. "You're right, Barnabas. I need an army. But that will be difficult, won't it? Most of the clanners are with Katzu, yes?"

Barnabas just rolled his eyes. "You're actually going to do it, aren't you? Well, here's some advice. Bierlond's strong, but not as strong as Katzu thinks it is. From what I know, it's been secretly trading with some other country. Weapons, supplies, even soldiers, in return for booze. If you're going to recruit an army, you might want to look over seas." With that, the old morpher got up and started to leave. "Oh, and you'll be getting a visit from some government types tomorrow. I hope that priest of yours has all his papers." Finally he strode back out into the wilderness, and after a while, Roland saw the silhouette of a large cat bounding through the woods noiselessly.

Roland got back up, dusted his kilt off, and went back to the campsite. He decided he should get some rest as well.

The next day came bright and early, and Arthur was the first to rise. He smiled as he lifted the flap of his tent and deeply inhaled the morning air. Last night's rest had seriously helped him out. Now that the expedition was under way and the problem of Beth resolved, he felt as if a giant weight was lifted off his shoulders. He started to tidy up the camp site when the others started to get up. Matt and Joseph got up and helped Arthur out.

"Kupo," came a groan from inside Beth's tent.

Arthur smiled knowingly and went over to the tent. He flung open the tent and called into it, "the world is waiting for you, Beth! Rise and shine!" He was greeted by a fireball a bit to hot even for a bangaa. The tip of his nose was singed rather badly.

"Close the flap or I'll kill you, kupo," came a rasp from within the tent's recesses.

"Oh come on, Beth! We need to take down the tents anyway. Come on out." With this, Arthur hoisted Beth out of the tent and called out to Matt, "okay, now!"

Matt, who had done this countless times when his master was hung over, sloshed a bucket of ice cold water onto Beth, who let out a small yell because of the water's temperature.

"That's freakin' cold, you kupo jerk!"

"Why Beth, you practically didn't cuss at all," Arthur said.

"I'm trying to break the habit okay?" Beth said irritably. "Now give me some Firebird, kupo. I have a headache like you wouldn't imagine."

"I wonder why," Matt said. As I said before, the boy had dealt with this before. He rummaged through one of his masters bags and took out a small round bottle. He uncorked it and gave it to Beth. "Here's some coffee. The bottle always keeps it warm, so I keep it for when Master's had a really bad bender the night before."

Beth snatched it away from Matt and took a gulp before spitting it back out. "Yuck! This stuff tastes like mud!"

"I probably put some in there," Mat said, "it definitely brings you back to earth, yeah?"

Beth said nothing but drank a few more gulps of the stuff before handing it back to Matt. Then she helped Joseph fold up the tents. Every time they came together to fold the ends, their hands touched and Joseph's ears became even redder.

Arthur smiled at the two. It was good that Beth had a young moogle boy her age around, especially one so responsible. It should keep her out of trouble. In some ways, at any rate. Also, Arthur thought while looking at Joseph, it was obvious the boy was smitten with Beth.

Finally, after everything was put up they saw Roland coming up the trail. "Oh, good. You're all up and everything's packed. Get your weapons out, we've got company."

Everyone was rather surprised to hear him so serious. He had a business like look to his face and had a practical mace in his hand.

Every one quickly rummaged through the cart. Bella looked at them rather irritably and went back to eating her feed. Eventually, everyone found their weapons and got back to where Roland was.

"Just in time, too," Roland said as he saw some figures approaching on the trail. "Now just let me do the talking at first. And make sure you have all the papers, Arthur."

The figures were finally getting close enough to be examined. There were six of them, three humans, two bangaa, and a moogle. Their weapons looked well used, and they all held them like professionals. Arthur sighed. It was time to see if all his training had paid off.

"Greetings, citizens," one of the humans said. He was tall and rather muscular, wearing serviceable armor and with a sword in his right hand and a shield in his left. Readers would recognize his voice as the second one from last night's interesting conversation. "I am captain Robert Stutely. We are here to inform you that you have broken the outdoor loitering law and are going to have to inspect the contents of your cart."

"Fair enough," Roland said pleasantly, his mace hand's grip tightening the tiniest bit.

Robert nodded to the two Bangaa who headed to the cart. They were both carrying swords of their own and had on the same well made armor.

"Now if I may ask you a few questions," Robert said while the moogle, a rather shady looking fellow with square spectacles and a ratty waistcoat on took out a notebook and pencil. "First, have any of you broken the law before?"

Our heroes all truthfully answered no.

"Where was the last city that you stayed in?"

They all answered Sprohm.

"And where are you going?"

"We are going to the monastery of St Grigori the Wise, in the Roda Mountains," Arthur said.

"Oh? Crossing the country border? Do you have papers?"

Arthur rummaged through his satchel and pulled out a sheaf of papers. The shady moogle snatched them out of his hands and looked through them with his dark, shiny eyes. "They appear to be in order, kupo,"

"Very well then," Robert said as if he was slightly disappointed. "So could you explain the booze? As you know, according to the Extraneous Items Tariff, you will have had to pay tax on it to transport it out of country. Do you have proof that you paid it?"

Arthur took out a stack of receipts. "This covers everything in the cart, cart and Chocobo included."

Captain Robert gave them to the moogle, who confirmed all of them. He turned on them exasperatedly. "Fine. And you're weapons? What about them? Carrying weapons without a license is an offense punishable by-"

Arthur shoved even more papers into the Captain's face. The moogle confirmed it and it appeared that the captain had nothing more to stick them with.

"Now as to the loitering offense," he growled, "it can be punishable by-"

"A maximum fine of five hundred gil for first time offenders," Roland finished and threw a bag of coins to the Captain. "I think you'll find that to be more than enough. Thank you for telling us this. We'll make sure to stay at an inn next time."

With this, the group politely pushed between the two large bangaa and set off on their cart.

Captain Robert was fuming. "We couldn't get one stupid thing to stick!! Who keeps the receipts for the sodding tents they by second hand?! Not one bloody thing!" He angrily thought of all the money that had just slipped away from him, and screamed some more.

"Um, Captain?" came the voice of the moogle, "I think I found something they did wrong, kupo."

Robert listened to the little moogle, and started to grin. "Saddle up boys!" he called. "We've got that fortune yet!"

**And yet another chapter draws to a close. Stick around for the next one, where some actual fighting ensues! Also, I promise to get the next one out before February, and that's cutting me own throat! Take care, everybody.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Those who read the last chapter will know that I said I would get a new chapter in before February. I accomplished this. Scroll down to see my celebrating, but please read the fic first.**

_One misconception of the use of instruments to learn fighting techniques is that the ability comes from the instrument itself. It actually comes from the music, and how it focuses various parts of the latent magic field of all people. Some instruments are better than others for doing various things. The glass bell, for instance, easily allows the user to focus on the almost invisible magic frequencies that are used to put people to sleep. In the same way, an earth bell is good for taking control of dragons, as they focus on the bold tones of magic needed to subdue such a large beast._

_In the same way, a rod specifically tuned to the element of fire will allow the learner to understand how to use a fire spell easier. Also the intensity of said elemental affinity will require less from the pupil making it easier to learn even more powerful spells. _

_What this also means that if there is a properly trained teacher at hand, it is possible to learn many of the instrumental techniques with just one instrument. This was how animists first started, with the apprentice learning everything from his teacher, and requiring only a flute or a violin. This fell out of style when the different instruments became cheap enough for a would be animist to learn on his own._

_Of course, what with Katzu Cross raising the taxes on leisure items like instruments, the number of animists and beast masters has declined sharply._

The country side stretched before our group of heroes as Bella waddled along the trail.

"That was close," said Arthur.

"It's a good thing you're such an anal prude, kupo," Beth said with a smirk, though Arthur ignored it. It was good to have her back.

Joseph was looking at a map. "Kupo, it says here that there's a town about ten miles from here. We should probably stay there for the night and keep off the trails for a while."

Arthur agreed. "It'll be a bit of a wrench, but I have enough money to get us to Baguba on one of the main roads. From there, we could take an airship to Roda."

The other four nodded. The whole thing was getting ridiculous. Arthur wasn't joking when he talked about the one hundred twenty gil per day wasn't much for what they were enduring. They were lucky that they didn't get carted off by those road guards.

To lighten the mood, Joseph took out a violin. "A little music might help, kupo."

Roland grinned at this. "Come, apprentice. Get our instruments out."

Matt groaned a bit at having to shift his master's mountain of luggage around, but did it quickly and without any sarcastic remark. He pulled out a guitar and a bodhran, a drum often called a "goat wacker" because of the skin stretched across the circular wood base.

Arthur took Bella's reigns. He had no musical talent at all, but he did enjoy listening to people who were good at it.

Matt started out with a tattoo that sounded like falling rain. The bodhran was played like stringed instrument, with matt strumming the stick onto the goat skin, his hand behind silencing each beat. Then Roland came in with his guitar, and then Joseph pulled the bow over his violin's strings. They played a lively jig, and Beth got into it and sang a bit. There were no words, but she had a pretty good voice.

When the first song ended, they started up again. They didn't know how long they'd played, but they saw the town coming up once they stopped.

"Just a few more miles," Matt said.

"That's good," Roland said, looking to the back. "For it appears that we have company."

Arthur took a look and saw the trail guards coming up, each sitting on fine gold chocobos. "Adramalach help us," he said groaning.

"Indeed," Roland said. "Now would be a good time to prepare your weapons."  
Everyone got out their weapons. Joseph nervously took out his war horn.

"Do you know how to use that?" Roland asked.

"I know sheep count kupo. I'm learning catnip."

Roland nodded. "Good ability to have, that is. What about you, Arthur?"

"Whirlwind right now, and currently learning air render." Arthur showed him his heavy Kaiser knuckles.

"Basic spells and currently learning Fira," said Beth.

"Excellent. Now it appears that-"

"This is a conflict between you and the guards of the southeastern Sprohm trail," an authoritative voice interrupted. "Conflict will end when either party is unable to pursue. Poison and holy magic are illegal today."

Roland sighed. "Well, we'll just have to hope that we don't need too much patching up. Now as I was saying," and with this, Roland put his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and blew. A piercing whistle echoed across the plains. Then, as if from nowhere, two of the biggest panthers of all time came out.

"Friends of yours, master?" Matt asked.

"The one on the left. The one on the right is just an exceptionally large panther. I do remember a few things after all, apprentice. Controlling monsters, for example."

The Captain and his posse were catching up. There was about seven in all. Two archers, the shady moogle, who now had a knife in his hand, the two large bangaa warriors, a black mage, and the fighter leader. "You are under arrest on the authority of the Sprohm precinct for smuggling a moogle across the country boarder!"

Arthur shook his head. Of course Beth didn't have the proper papers. "Oh well," he thought, as he launched a solid fist of air into the moogle. He managed to dodge it, but Beth's Fira caught him.

"Jolly good, you two," Roland called to him. "Now, Joseph, if you'd be so kind to cast Catnip on Matthias, we'll be on our way."

Joseph did so, and then the team of apprentice and master jumped onto the backs of the panthers and charged into the thick of it. Matt fought like a whirlwind under the Catnip and gave the captain a critical gash in the side and almost knocked him off his steed. Roland placed a solid hit on one of the archers before the moogle got behind him and stabbed him.

Back at the cart, Arthur was controlling the crowd with his air render ability. He sent another missile of air to the left, and the chocobos veered to the right, into the waiting hands of Beth, who launched a Fira into the middle of the group for maximum damage.

The captain finally got into position and attempted a hit on the panther Matt was sitting on with an air render of his own. He did hit the panther, but he left himself in position for a counter attack from Roland's panther who leapt up and raked him across his back. Matt then rode up and savagely swung his curved scimitar into the captain's head. The two devastating attacks were too much, and the captain fell off his chocobo and onto the ground.

The fight was doing well for Arthur and his companions. When the Catnip finally wore off, Matthias helped out with a few black magic spells he knew, and soon almost everyone was taken out save for one archer, one bangaa, and the moogle.

The moogle was playing it safe, staying in the back while the archer launched a blackout arrow at Beth. It hit, and Beth had to be put behind one of the barrels to keep away from any more arrows. Unfortunately this meant less covering fire for the two on the panthers.

The bangaa took this opportunity to charge up to the cart and jumped onto the back of it, his sword raised in the back of Joseph, who looked up at the reigns to see the giant bangaa bearing down on him.

Arthur swiftly punched him in the kidney. The Bangaa went down, and Arthur shoved him out onto the road. The moogle had also been easily disposed of without the bangaa to guard him, so only the archer remained. Said archer attempted to stay out of the range of Matt's spells while trying to blind the both of them. Arthur sent an air render to one side of the archer's chocobo, making him veer towards Roland, who knocked him out with one swing of his mace.

"Engagement over!" The Judge yelled. "But you are now under arrest for resisting arrest!"

"I thought this would have happened," Roland said. He then took out what appeared to be a brown card with a lightning bolt emblazoned on the back and held it up to the air. The Judge stopped dead in his tracks. "Now lets get over to that town before he can move again."

Matt and his master got back onto the cart and the two panthers went away. Bella seemed to have realized the seriousness of the situation, as she sprinted the last mile to the town.

"What on earth was that?" Arthur asked Roland. "How did you get that Judge to stop like that?"

"That was an antilaw card," Roland said. "A very powerful product of the greatest alchemist Ivalice ever saw. Ezel Berbier, Ultima preserve him. He was too smart for his own good."

"The ability to nullify laws huh?" Beth said wonderingly. "Just imagine what we could do to Katzu if we had that still, kupo."

As they finished this conversation, they pulled into the town. It was built in the same style of any of the farming villages that dotted the hilly plains around the mountains that Sprohm rested on. It had a perimeter road and two roads that crossed in the middle. At the crossroads was the town's inn. Beside that, a smithy. The rest of the buildings were wood houses, with sod put in the holes to keep them warm.

They three parked beside the inn. Joseph strategically lined the cart up with a window in case of trouble. They five went in and instantly felt better from the warmth. There was a pot on the hearth, and a modest bar took up one corner.

The group took up the five seats in front of the bar and asked for whatever was in the pot. It turned out to be potato soup with some kind of meat in it. It wasn't the best thing any of them had, but they ate it without complaining. No matter what it is, the food at an inn will invariably taste better than whatever you had when camping in a Sprohm winter for the simple fact you won't be worried about your frozen fingers falling off.

The night they stayed in that town was not bad at all. The barkeep only had beer, but the moogles didn't complain too much, and the rates were very good. They rented out the three empty rooms, and Arthur said he would sleep on the couch in front of the fireplace. All in all, it was a lot better than any of them had expected.

Thus, it was no great surprise when they were ambushed in the morning. They had actually prepared for this. Arthur took a look to see. It was just two human soldiers barging through the inn's door.

"Arthur Macfust, you and your accomplices are-"

The poor man should have subdued Arthur first. If a monk of St. Grigori knows you want to fight him, don't talk. Arthur's knee found its way into the poor man's stomach, then hit them both with a whirlwind attack.

While this was happening, a few more guards had come through the door, but Arthur dashed to the other side of the inn and broke through the window. He landed into the waiting hands of Matt and Roland. Joseph snapped the reigns and they were off yet again.

"That went a lot better than last time," Matt said as Arthur sat up.

"Indeed," his master said and eyed him critically. "You did remember to leave the money for the smashed windows and blankets we used for the escaper rope, yes?"

"Of course master, though we are short on money. Was it honestly necessary?"

"Yes, apprentice, it was honestly necessary," Roland said gravely. "After all, it wasn't their fault they were housing criminals."

"Kupo, we're criminals now?" Joseph said looking back.

"We've evaded arrest, attacked guards, and are currently going about thirty miles above the speed limit. My lord, this bird can run. Yes, Joseph. I think it's safe to assume we are officially criminals."

"Oh great! My family's going to disown me!"

If my plan works out, Roland thought, you'll be welcomed as a hero by them. "It's best not to worry about it Joseph. Just keep a hold of the reigns. We need to get to Baguba within the next three hours. We're going nonstop."

George was a guard of the main trade route from Sprohm to Baguba, which wasn't a bad job. People showed him their papers, and then they went along. This job had given George a very relaxed look on life, almost to the point of zen like meditation. He always looked like he was about to fall asleep.

So when the cart drawn by a severely ragged looking chocobo went down the road so quickly that it blew so much slush on him as to make him look like a snow man, he didn't panic. He slowly rose from his, seat, brushed the snow off of his armor, and went to the guard house. Inside the building, he carefully picked the best looking pigeon from the cages and thoughtfully wrote a letter to the guards at the Baguba gate to blockade the entrance. He gave the pigeon a little pat on the head and sent him off. After he saw the little bird wing it to the moogle city, he put a kettle on the stove and opened the cabinets. He decided a cup of tea was in order.

"I have a feeling that we're not going to get a warm reception in Baguba," Arthur said while looking back at the snow blown guard.

"Ah, this brings me back," Roland said joyfully. "Sticking it to the man, like we used to do in Clan Nutsy. We ran some real blockades in our day."

"So any suggestions, kupo?" Joseph said worriedly, "Bella's really straining at the reigns!"

"Good. Let her go," Beth said.

"What?!" everyone but Roland said.

"No, she's right. It's downhill from here. Cut her reigns. We'll use the wagon like a battering ram."

"Mr Roland sir, I'm an engineer, kupo," Joseph said, looking back. "This cart may have the velocity, but it doesn't have the mass to batter down a door. The door has too much potential energy, and the cart's kinetic energy is-"

"I appreciate your expertise, Joseph," Roland said quickly, "But just do as I say. I didn't live this long by being stupid."

"No, you did by sleeping for ninety plus years, kupo," Beth said grinning.

Ignoring her, Roland once again said, "cut the reigns, Joseph. I won't ask you again."

Joseph reluctantly did so, and Beth got off the road quickly. She'd had enough of their ridiculousness.

The gate to Baguba loomed in front of them. Baguba was not a military town, and they survived not because of prowess in battle, but by the fact that all other cities owed some kind of debt to them. Because of that, their fortifications were nothing like Sprohm's but a foot of seasoned oak didn't give easily. Also, a line of ten or twelve guards stood in front of them, each with brilliant judge armor gleaming. The city was taking this seriously.

The wildly careening cart was now level with the door and the judges. Beth and Joseph clung to each other, Matt raised his hands up, Arthur said a final prayer, but Roland just kept looking straight. The cart made contact with the door. Wood splintered, shards of it became dangerous shrapnel, and the cart…

Pushed through the ancient door's carcass, still going as fast as if it hadn't just run into the gate.

"It is very difficult to do anything about mass," Roland said. "Gravity, on the other hand, is something completely different."

All the riders were amazed they were alive excluding Roland. But the question remained.

"Where did the judges go?" Matt asked.

"The smart ones got out of the way, I imagine," Arthur said while he looked to the front of the cart. "Hello down there."

"Hello sir."

"I see you're clinging to the underside of this cart."

"I wouldn't want to get ground into the road sir."

"Good point. Let me help you up."

Arthur helped him up and sat him down. "Are you okay, young man?"

"Much better now sir, I can't tell you-"

"Good," Arthur interjected and pushed him off the cart. "I slipped a potion in your pocket if anything gets harmed!" he called back.

"Appreciate it sir!" the guard yelled, waving.

"Kupo, he was quite polite," Joseph said.

"It's good to see kids with common courtesy nowadays," Roland agreed.

A few minutes of out of control rolling passed.

"Say, when is this thing stopping kupo?" Beth finally asked.

As an answer, the cart ran onto a pothole, one of the wheels broke off, and the entire thing capsized. When it landed, the other three wheels popped off, and it ground to a halt in front of a sign that said "Erik Winston and Sons Airship Transport".

"Fate, Prophecy, or Sheer Dumb Luck?" Arthur wondered out loud.

They saw a few of the guards coming down the road now on chocobos they had just acquired.

"No time for that, yes?" Roland said hurriedly, and they all ran into the shop, safely away from the Guards.

**I did it! I said I'd get this done before February and I did!! I am the master of time!! Fear meee! Feeeaarr MEEEEEE!!! Ahem. Yes well, review please. Thanks, and good night.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Dear readers, if I haven't estranged you all by the three and a half month wait for this chapter, I apologize. Real life got on top of me, as it has a tendency to do, and I merely ask that you accept my humblest apologies for this huge break in the mutual reader/writer agreement. I haven't been at the ol' word processor in a while, and the length of this chapter shows it. It'll probably take me a month or two to get back to my previous work ethic, but rest assured that no matter what, the Hitchhiker's Guide to Ivalice will not die as long as I can draw breath. It has a beginning, middle, and end, and I aim to get all the way their by any means possible. I'm here for the long run, folks, and I'll be happy if you join me for it and support me.**

**But enough of this slightly emo-ish navel gazing! On with the reason you people came here! This way to the flame fodder!**

_Saint Grigori the Wise was not only a learned scholar, but also a spirited theologian and evangelist. One of the first stories ever told to young initiates in his order is the story of St. Grigori's Apple Pastry._

_As the tale goes, Grigori was walking along a trail in the Roda mountains when he happened upon a fellow traveler. The two walked along for a while, enjoying each other's company. The conversation started to turn towards theology, as it often did with Grigori, and he started talking about Adramalach and the other Totema._

_The traveler, having heard this, expressed his concern with believing in something that he couldn't sense at all. Grigori, at this point in time just a young monk, was surprised by this and felt an immense sorrow for this poor fellow who couldn't experience the joy of being one with his god. He then endeavored to find a way to explain this feeling of faith to the fellow._

_After walking a while, the two decided to stop for a snack. Seeing the food, Grigori finally found a way to communicate the concept of faith to the man. After their meal, Grigori asked the man if he had had lunch. The man said yes and Grigori asked what he had had. The man spoke of his lunch, but especially of a particular apple pastry he had eaten of more than adequate deliciousness. The man went on about its flaky crust and sweet filling. Grigori told the man he didn't believe in the apple pastry as he had no way of sensing it. The man was rather insulted that he didn't believe he had eaten the pastry as he had told him outright, along with the fact that it was sitting in his belly._

_Grigori told him that his apple pastry was much like faith, and only after having experienced it could he properly know what it was. He then asked if the man would follow him as a disciple so that he too would "taste the apple pastry of faith". The man did, and soon became a close friend and companion of St Grigori._

_It is for this reason that Theodore O'Rourke, Grigori's first disciple, is the patron saint of bakers._

The Winstons have a very strong sense of family. They also have a strong sense of privacy. It was because of these two aspects that when Bethany burst through the door of her uncle's airship trading company, along with a bangaa monk, a bearded sage, his long suffering apprentice, and a young red headed moogle holding her hand, he asked naught of it. He didn't pry, he didn't question, he didn't even raise his eyebrows an inch. All he did was ask how Beth was while taking them to the company's classy kitchen and locked the door behind him.

"Uncle Erik, I know you won't ask kupo, but I can tell you we haven't done anything to disgrace the Winston name," Beth said while helping herself to a mighty peach trifle that was offered to her.

Her uncle nodded. Erik didn't mind this too much, the family would have just disowned her if she had. Still though, it was good to know she hadn't. He rather liked his little niece. "That's good to know, kupo. But I take it you're here for a reason besides visiting your uncle and eating all his food, kupo."

Bethany grinned and shoveled more sponge cake, fruit, and clotted cream into her mouth. Looking at her friends, she waved to the kitchen table. "Go on guys," she said through her full mouth, "just grab something, kupo."

Arthur shrugged and took a pasty out of a largish basket above the oven. It was still hot, and the buttery crust flaked beautifully. He bit into it and the taste of mushrooms, onions, and roast chicken floated about in his mouth. He wolfed the rest down as if he was starving. It was the most delicious thing he'd had since he had left the monastery. After wiping the crumbs off his mouth, he bowed to Bethany's uncle. "Thank you very much, Mr. Winston."

Erik nodded. "Think nothing of it, kupo. Now then, dear niece, can I do anything for you and your friends, kupo?"

"I'm sorry to ask this of you uncle, but we need an airship, kupo. Any half broken tub in port will do." The reason Bethany was so timid in asking is a ritual of the Winstons. They will give anything to a family member, so long as they're humble. Of course Erik would spare no expense to help out his beloved niece, but she had to ask with the utmost humility. Manners are a big thing for any family of the Winston's standing.

"I will get the fastest ship in port right now, kupo. It will take about a day to get the crew ready though. Do you mind shoving off early tomorrow, kupo?"

No one minded this at all. They did ask if Mr. Winston didn't say anything about them to the judges though.

"Very good. I'll have Rachel show you to your quarters, kupo." With that, a young nu mou stepped into the kitchen. She had long silvery hair pulled into a thick braid that went down her slender shoulder. She looked at the party with luminous green eyes and bowed. "I'll escort you to the guest floor. If you'll just follow me," she said as she beckoned them up the steps to the next floor. As they climbed up, Roland's eyes never once left their hostess.

"Oh geez master," sighed Matt. "Please hold back your womanizing ways for the time we're here, please?"

Ignoring his apprentice, Roland tapped the nu mou girl on her shoulder. "I beg your pardon, young miss but I'd like to ask you a question. Were you named after someone in your family you know of?"

"Why yes, as a matter of fact," Rachel said, too good a hostess to say how odd the question was. "My great grandmother was named Rachel. She was an amazing white mage. She even joined up with Clan Nutsy."

"That's very impressive," Roland said, his voice a bit distant. "Is there a particular reason you were named after her?"

"My mom said I had her grandmother's eyes," Rachel said, smiling a bit. He eyes were quite attractive, like two exquisite emeralds.

Arthur heard Roland say, "you really do," under his breath.

"Is there any reason you asked, pardon my asking?" Rachel asked, her curiosity getting the best of her, "Do you think we're related?"

"In a manner of speaking." With this, Roland keeled over and fainted. Now this wouldn't have been too big a problem under normal circumstances. As it was though, they happened to be on steps. The old sage rolled down one flight, hit a wall, rolled down another flight, and bowled over a poor scullery maid who had been washing dishes in the sink. Suds and large kettles flew into the air and the nu mou himself was buried under a pile of soapy plates. Quite hilarious, really.

Matt sighed. "Pardon me, miss Rachel." With that, he went down the stairs, hoisted his master over his shoulders, and climbed up the stairs again. Arthur shook his head yet again. Sometimes he wondered if Matt was human. "Master's had a long day."

"Fair enough," said Rachel, slightly flustered. "At any rate, here's the guest suite. Please make yourself comfortable."

The place was in a word, classy. Everything was subdued, with a creamy blueish paint job to the walls and three rooms. There was also a lounge/kitchen in the middle with one of those three piece furniture sets that's actually worth the ridiculous price tag.

"I don't think that will be a problem, miss Rachel," Arthur said, gazing in disbelief at the richness of the place. Matt and Joseph were marveling at the treasures of the Winston household as well.

"Kupo! Did you see Mr. Winston's tooth?!" the moogle engineer exclaimed as he flopped onto the huge couch. "It was tipped with an Antlion Eye pink diamond! There's only five in the whole world and they're all flawless! They change hands for the gross income of the entire continent, kupo! And kupo, this couch feels like I'm lying on a cloud!"

"That's nothing!" Matt said, joyous disbelief shining in his eyes, "look at this!" he turned a small spigot on the kitchen sink and a red liquid sprung up from it. "He has booze piped up to the sink! There's a spigot for wine, ale, whiskey, and one marked WR."

Beth giggled as she heard that. "I really wouldn't dare trying that unless you have a death wish, kupo. I really wouldn't. That's Uncle Erik's special Winston Rye. He brews it himself. You can only drink it out of a clay tankard because it eats through metal, kupo."

Arthur looked about the room, wide eyed. For an ascetic monk like himself, this was like a life long teetotaler drowning in bourbon. "Bethany, when I first saw you, you were being thrown out of a bar nestled in a Sprohm alleyway. Please explain."

Beth shrugged. "We Winstons are good at making money. We own land, bonds, shares of the government, you name it. Uncle Erik's a bit richer than the rest of us, because he works, kupo. The rest of us just live off old plunder from Grandpa Ike's adventuring days and investments."

"That doesn't explain you though," Arthur pressed.

Beth yawned dramatically. "Maybe next time. I'm tired. Good night, kupo." with that she sauntered into one of the suite's bedrooms and closed the door.

Arthur shook his head. Bethany was a mystery wrapped in an enigma for sure, but he had other things to attend to. "How's Roland looking? He took quite a fall."

"He's starting to come to," Matt, the ever faithful apprentice said.

Groaning, Roland finally forced himself up on the canapé Matt had found for him. "I," he rasped laboriously, "I need…"

"Here's your whiskey, master," Matt said, handing Roland his flask. Matt really was the model apprentice.

Roland snatched the flask away and quickly gulped down its contest. Clearing his throat a bit, he clearly said, "thank you, apprentice. My goodness, I hope I didn't make too big a fool of myself, did I?"

"Nah, though the fall down the steps and bowling over the scullery maid was worth a few laughs, kupo," Joseph said, grinning.

Roland smiled a bit. "Well, if that's everything, I think I'll turn in. It has been a rather eventful day.

Arthur held up his hand. "Hold it. I don't want to pry, but there seems to be a connection between you and that young girl, Rachel. If you don't mind explaining, I'd be interesting in knowing what it is."

The sage airily waved his hand. "Just a bit of reverse repressed amnesia. Nothing out of the ordinary." Matt snorted a derisive laugh at this statement.

"You really didn't answer the question, Roland."

"Kupo, now I really want to know," Joseph said, looking expectantly at the beleaguered nu mou.

Roland sighed. "Well, I suppose I won't be able to get any amount of sleep until I talk will I? Apprentice, put the kettle on. This will take a while."

**And that as they say, is that. Wait, what did you say? You want to code an HTML knife to stab me through my e mail for making you wait so long? Well go right ahead and God's speed, friend. But while you're bothering to acknowledge my existence, would you mind leaving a review? Much obliged.**


	8. Chapter 8

**So, about a week late, but it's here, FFTA public. Please enjoy. I'm keeping it short this time, but I have some shoutouts. First to the new readers of the fic. Xikra, who was nice enough to review my sadly dead Naruto fic. Next to Kane-Sama, I just say welcome. Pull up a chair. Fancy a pint? And finally to the wunderkind 1angelette, a highly accomplished writer who also runs a darn good FFTA roleplay forum. If you have any concept of what rocks, go there! But after you read the fic, please. Which starts right… now!**

_This is the tale of Macgregor and Sybil._

_Macgregor was the model image of a white monk of Saint Markus. His sense of right and wrong was infallible, his bravery knew no bounds. He was already a fairly well known bangaa in his parish, and often patrolled the streets around his town against bandits. When he found out about Clan Nutsy, he saw a place where he could help spread goodness and glorify Adramalech. Clan Nutsy welcomed his devout goodness and strong arm into the fold with open arms._

_Young Sybil had been a fencer since she was old enough to hold a rapier. She was a shrewd and calculating mercenary who had been captain of her own small bandit clan that robbed people going into the Salikawood. When she found out about Clan Nutsy, she saw a place to hone her skills and get a lot more plunder then by jumping small parties. Clan Nutsy welcomed her substantial cunning and admirable skill into the fold with open arms._

_As it was, they did not welcome each other with open arms. Macgregor saw Sybil as everything he went against, a devious witch who preyed on those weaker than herself for her own selfish reasons. She was a spiritualist as well as a fencer, and as she grew , she started to gain power from the divine spirits of nature. He disparagingly called her powers a "pagan patchwork of deceit and trickery"._

_Sybil had the same sentiment about Macgregor, and thought of him as a holier than thou fanatic with laughable intelligence. "Only a fool would think he knows what's best for everyone, and enforces people's lives as he sees fit," she would say. His powers came from his faith in Adramalech, and Sybil always wrote them off not as gifts, but as a trade for his freedom and soul._

_At first, this only was shown when they worked together, so the clan tried to keep them apart as much as possible. Unfortunately, this wasn't always possible, and it was on one mission that tensions ran so high, these two major members of the clan actually attacked each other. The mission was compromised, and Marche finally decided that they should be let go. _

_"This is all your fault!!" The two yelled at each other._

_Despite their feelings, necessity demanded that they travel together at least to Baguba. On the way there, they noticed a Jagd that would take them to the port city considerably quicker. They agreed to go through, but not for the reason that the one thought the other was agreeing upon. They each saw this as an opportunity to kill the other._

_The twenty vampires laying in the Jagd in wait of a stupid party decided they wouldn't have any of that though. If anyone was going to kill anybody, it was going to be them._

_Though such an obviously futile battle, the two fought for the smallest chance of survival. White magic and exorcisms flew through the air desperately as the two fought with, and to a certain extent for the other._

_Finally, it appeared as if they would make it, one vampire came up behind Sybil. Busily fending off three more undead, she was unprepared for the fourth to put the bite on her. Macgregor heard the crunch of bone, and stared at the vampire. Sybil lay in its hands, dead. Looking at her, he saw what the Vierra elementalist really was. Lying dead at the hands of the fiend was nothing more than a young girl, smarter than most, but still insecure. He realized he had no idea what a girl had to go through to become as powerful as she was. For the first time, his eyes were opened to his greatest failure. Despite his vows, he had neglected the one most obvious person who needed his protection and guidance._

_Exorcising the vampire who had done the deed, he tenderly picked up the limp frame of his former clanner, and felt a sorrow. What would things have been like if they had found some way to get along? Could it have been possible? He began to sob. Why should this happen? Those sobs turned to growls. This shouldn't have happened. The growls to howls. The price for this happening will be severe! Then he let out a heart felt battle yell in the fine tradition of St Markus templars._

_Holy magic struck him from above, and washed over the entire Jagd. Wave upon wave of pure divine power saturated the area, the whole place turned into a land of blinding whites and stark blacks. The vampires burst into flames, crumbled to dust, then blew away. The very buildings buckled in on themselves and sunk into the ground. Finally, after channeling so much raw magic, Macgregor himself fainted._

_Only to wake up later on. As he got up, he mused that he felt very, very different. He felt more graceful, less sluggish. With this, he scratched his head. But wait, what's this stuff on top of his pate? Is that hair?! And his skin, it was no longer scaly, but slightly fuzzy! Thinking quickly he looked into an available pool. His snout had shortened, his orange skin had become a more burnt sienna color, and upon his head was a shock of white hair. "What's happened to me?" he asked. "And where did this pool come from?"_

_"Macgregor?" a soft voice behind him asked. The sort of bangaa looked to see what he thought was a Vierra, but just barely. This one had grown a long tapering tail, her eyes were more reptilian, and the chocolate hue of most Vierra was instead a rich golden color. _

_"Sybil?" Macgregor asked in a bewildered tone. "You're alive?"_

_"I'm not sure. What happened to you?"_

_"What happened to you?"_

_"I think we might be qualified to answer that."_

_Before them stood two of the most imposing figures in the history of Ivalice. One was a great dragon, bigger than any seen on Ivalice before him. His smoldering eyes belied the wisdom of centuries. The other was a great tree whose very presence demanded humility. The Totemas Adramalech and Exodus stood before them, the spiritual patrons of their races._

_"The bangaa draw their power from pride and bravery", Adramalech rumbled. "It is the power to defend your allies and slay your enemies."_

_"The Vierra get their power from their veneration of the spirits and cunning. Theirs is the power of surprise; a Vierra can trick a superior opponent into defeat." His voice, like the sound of both the rustling of leaves and the whisper of countless voices, took a different tone. "Despite these gifts you were given, there is a force that easily defeats all of them."_

_"This force has killed the greatest heroes, made invincible juggernauts out of the weak, and empowered your people to rise to the heights that you are at today," Adramalech growled._

_"That force," whispered Exodus, "is love."_

_The two looked at each other. Indeed, Macgregor was feeling something that he had never felt before. It was like what fueled his devotion to protect people, but somehow, stronger still. He wanted to pull Sybil in and protect her with his body. No one could take her from him. Why was he feeling like this?_

_Sybil was wrestling with emotions she had never felt before. She looked at Macgregor and saw… a treasure. It was like no kind of treasure she had ever had before. She had no way to gauge its worth, but she wanted to keep it. She would defend it to the death, and she would die with her fingers wrapped around it. This feeling was like the most precious of treasures. It was something you could never buy, and something you should never sell._

_"Look upon yourselves," came the rumbling of Adramalech. "We had nothing to do with this. The sheer power of your love, Macgregor, brought Sybil back to life, defeated the undead horde, returned this jagd to its former state of beauty, and changed you and Sybil to what you have become."_

_"You are now no longer vierra or bangaa. You have rejected yourselves, walked away from your traditions, your friends, your family. You have even rejected us."_

_The two started to fade away. "Now, you belong only to each other."_

_Macgregor looked into Sybil's eyes. Her big, beautiful dark purple eyes, like two pools into the twilight hour. "I love you."_

_Sybil looked up into his face. Wisdom and love shone from his countenance, she just never noticed. "I love you too."_

_They shared a tender kiss. "Let's go back to Clan Nutsy," Macgregor said._

_Sybil nodded. "Let's."_

_Now when they fought, their power came from each other. True, Macgregor still fulfilled the pledge to defend the weak and downtrodden that is integral to his order, and yes Sybil still pulled power from the elements around her and the arts of the arcane (not to mention a good rapier and excellent reflexes), but their true power came from something far greater. _

_This is the tale of Macgregor and Sybil. A tale of how love conquers all._

"The tea's done, master," Matthias said as he gave Roland a cup.

The great sage nodded at him. "Thank you, apprentice. That will do. Well, while we're here, you might as well do some studying. You've no doubt heard this story when I've gotten too drunk."

"I would never have said anything, master," Matt said, his face sculpted into careful neutrality.

"Of course not," Roland said, his eyes narrowing "you know what's good for you. Read the first four chapters in Uncommon Beasts of Ivalice, then write me a short essay on the various spells you can gain from the creatures described." Matt nodded and went off, leaving Roland with Arthur and Joseph

Roland spent some time swirling his tea around before he even started talking. Obviously, this was going to be a bit of an undertaking for him. He finally took a deep breath and began. "Well, I suppose I'll start at the beginning. I was one of the original members of Clan Nutsy. I had worked with Montblanc for many years even before Marche had come. I was what you would call a battle ready white mage. I was rather tough for a nu mou and you could always find me in the fray of any battle, healing right along side the bruisers. We were a good clan, but not the best." He then took a dreamy look into his eyes. "Of course, that all changed when Marche came. His drive to find a way home gave us a reason to improve. With his ideology fueling us forward and Montblanc's strategy and exceptional skills, we quickly rose through the ranks. Of course, as the resident healer, they greatly needed me, and I found myself learning and doing things I would have never even imagined. Ahh, those were some amazing days," he paused for a little smile.

"We would fight almost every day, and then come back to the city in the evening. The wine, the camaraderie, the girls," his eyebrows arched and he smiled conspiratorially at the other two fellows.

"You must have been quite the heartthrob in your time, Roland," Joseph said with a wry grin.

"I'm still only thirty five, you know," Roland said, giving the young moogle a slight glare. "Anyway, things were going along just great, but then she came along."

"Rachel?" Arthur asked. He'd read enough ancient sagas at the monastery to know pretty well where this was going.

Roland nodded, his eyes losing focus, as they seemed to span years, taking the sage back to his days with his old clan. "Rachel. As we started to become more popular, more people clambered to join us. Montblanc was never one to delegate clan duties, so we never had any branch clans. At the same time, we liked to know the name of everyone in our band, so we were rather exclusive. Every now and then though, some would come that were worth taking in. Sybil became one of the greatest red mages and user of the elemental arts on Ivalice, if not the greatest. Macgregor eventually was welcomed into the Order of St Gordon as a senior templar."

"And Rachel," Arthur said, seeking to keep Roland on track.

"Ahh yes. Rachel. Arthur, you would never see a more beautiful nu mou in your life. Her hair was so soft and fine, silk was woolen by comparison. It was as white as the virgin snowfall, and her eyes were the two most flawless emeralds that the world had ever seen."

"This guy may be an amazing sage," Joseph thought to himself with a smile, "but I can see why the bards never took him." Nonetheless, he was enjoying the story.

"She came along while I was still a rather low ranked sage. I was still the de facto white mage, but the high level solo missions were coming more and more. What this meant was that many of these recent clanners who were taking on rather challenging missions didn't have any support. Tony, our paladin, knew a bit of white magic, as did Sybil, but they had other things they were dedicated to. We needed another white mage, and this young woman named Rachel responded. Of course, as the main healer, she was to be my pupil. This came to my dismay."

"What was wrong with her?" Arthur asked. "Was she a sub par student?"

"Did she have a bad attitude?" Joseph said, now really getting into the story.

"Oh no, nothing like that," Roland said while tamping some tobacco down into his pipe and lit it. He'd decided that if he was going to go through with this story, he was going to need a soothing smoke. "Do you smoke, Joseph?" he said offering the pouch. "I have some cigarette paper, if you so desire."

Joseph shook his head. "It's a bad habit to have when you're working with tons of mining grade explosive, kupo. Just continue with the story."

Roland nodded. "Well, like I said, I had no problems like that with her. She was actually a very good student, quite eager. Well learned and with a respectable bit of natural magic talent. No, the only problem was that she was a woman."

This stunned the two listeners. Arthur, rather confusedly finally managed to ask, "Roland, are you a… bigot?"

Roland inhaled deeply from his pipe and blew the smoke out of his nose. "Why the biggest there is, my priestly friend. Now don't look at me like that," he waved a hand platonically at his two dumbfounded comrades. "I can assure you both that it has nothing to do with some ignorant hate or stupid rationalization. It is purely a preference. I would rather have a girl give me a drink and maybe a kiss than have her run me through with a rapier, blast me with black magic, or send a torrent of chocobos upon me. I realize it is an antiquated notion, as it was an antiquated notion ninety years ago. As it was, I was reluctant to teach such an obvious girl, but most unfortunately, she did show a lot of promise. So I decided just to work her to the point that she would quit."

"But she didn't, did she?" Arthur asked.

Roland looked at him curiously. "Have I already told this story while inebriated? I hope I didn't. I have a tendency to cry, as I understand."

"We St Grigori monks have a certain sense of narrative inevitability."

"You know, I actually did a treatise on that once?" Roland said.

"Kupo, get with the story," Joseph said, having an idea what an innocent conversation like that could become. "You two can talk about brainy stuff on your own time, kupo."

"Yes, yes, very well. I hope you can appreciate the irony in a twenty one year old high ranking mining engineer calling us "brainy". Well to make a long story short since some people," he glared at Joseph again, "are getting impatient, she took everything I threw at her in stride. I threw her to the couerls, both figuratively and literally, and she came out without a scratch. I was amazed, and even impressed. To my immense displeasure, she was more than just a pretty face."

"She actually intrigued me, this girl Rachel did. Through the training, I learned a lot about her, and she probably learned more about me than I'd have liked. As often happens, we became more intimate, and we had a bit of a," he paused a moment lost in thought. "A relationship. It was a wonderful time in my life. Now I would go out fighting each day, then Rachel would tend my wounds. We'd share a tender kiss. It was bliss. There was a rocky bit where I was afraid of getting much closer to her, lest I lose my freedom. I'm ashamed to say I did a bit of philandering. I thank Ultima every day that Rachael had the sense to beat me to a pulp but not leave me. I realized that she was the best thing that had ever happened to me and decided to take the plunge. We got married a little while after Marche had left, but then our goals became different. I, as a sage, had decided to dedicate the rest of my life to studying the intricacies of magic. She had recently renounced being a white mage and a clanner, in hopes of helping to rebuild the Ivalice government."

"So what happened?"

"Oh, nothing so dramatic as one might think. I would stay in my cave, experimenting and such with the nature of magic, and she'd come whenever she could. I would do the same thing as time permitted. We made it work. Apparently, we even had children," he said, laughing a tiny bit. "You can imagine how surprised I was to see Rachel."

"Your fall gave us a pretty good idea kupo."

"She's the spitting image of her great grandmother," Roland said, ignoring Joseph. "But then, after three months, she didn't come back. I waited, and did as I always did, which was my research. Then the accident happened, I went to sleep for almost a century, and time marched on. I have no problems with the fact she's dead, that's to be expected," with this, he took a long pull from his pipe and let it out with a sigh. "I just wish that I knew where she was buried. Nowhere I have been since I woke up has any account of her."

"It must be hard," Arthur said.

Roland sighed again. "Yes, it is. Well, that's the end of that. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be in my quarters. I hope you all enjoyed story time."

"Thanks for sharing, kupo," Joseph said. "I appreciate you'd be open with us."

"I appreciate you listening, for all your quips, little moogle," Roland said and smiled a bit darkly. "I just hope you think better of doing such a thing with a sage who isn't so pleasant. Good night."

Arthur laid down on the couch. "I'll sleep here tonight. You can share the room with Matt. There's two beds in his suite."

Joseph nodded and yawned. "It's been a really long day, kupo. Good night."

Opening the door to his room, he saw Matt on one of the beds, reading from a rather thick book and occasionally scratching something in a large leather bound notebook. To Joseph, Matt was even more of an oddity than his chain smoking drunkard of a master. They had just been on the run since morning time. Everyone was tired to the bone, but Matt always looked like he had just taken a nap and had run a couple of laps. The boy seemed to exude an infinite amount of aggressive energy. This is funny because so far, Matt had proven to be nothing more than a rather obedient young man.

"Matt kupo," he said as he settled into his own bed. Geez, it felt like it was made of the feathers of angel babies. "I wish I had some men who could work like you back at the mines, kupo. You've spent the entire day running from Judges and carting around anywhere from two to three hundred pounds of luggage and nu mou, but don't look any worse for it."

"Yeah, actually, it sort of sucks."

"Kupo?" Montblanc asked curiously, feeling another story coming along. This was quite a day for unveiling his party member's weirdness. "Oh, I guess your master's always giving you ridiculous tasks since he knows you can do them, kupo."

"Well, there's that, yeah," with this, Matt closed his book and rolled up his right shirt sleeve. "But there's also this." Starting at his shoulder and continuing down to the bottom of his bicep was a mass of swirling insidious writing. "It goes all the way down to my right lung."

"What the heck is that, Kupo?!"

"That is the Word of Will, a powerful artifact I stole from my master."

"Kupo?" Joseph weakly realized he had been sucked into another story. "Why would you steal from your master?"

"Yeah, see, I was a thief before I was with master. Worked for a gang of punks in Cyril. I had some natural magic ability, which I used to my advantage when stealing. I'd heard about this haunted cave right outside of Cadoan, which had untold magical treasures that could drive you mad. I was actually hoping to steal a few choice things, send them to a Sprohm bank account, rat out the gang, and buy myself a house far far away from Cyril."

"Sounds like that gang was pretty bad, kupo."

Matt shook his head. "Nah, I just wanted out. Anyway, the first thing I saw when I got in and managed to live through some of the more malevolent traps was a huge book out on a dusty desk. I saw this huge word inscribed on twelve vellum pages. I couldn't read the word, but it said Word of Will in the margin, and something about having the endurance of twelve bulls. That sort of excited me, you know? I had never done real magic before, but I had a feel for it, so I wrote the whole thing out on my body in the blood of a rabbit I caught and did the necessary spell. I don't remember what happened for the two weeks after that. I just remember waking up to see the cave much cleaner and master standing over me. He said that I had been moving so quickly for two weeks that I'd cleaned the cave, organized his books and projects, and woke him up. He also said that the Word was sucking up not only all of my latent magic, but was also trying to gain power from my life force. If he hadn't managed to subdue me, I would have died of overexertion. As it is, now only master can restrict the effects, and he's teaching me magic so I'll be able to one day do it on my own." Joseph stretched and closed his book. He had been doing his studies while spinning his yarn. "So what about you, Joseph? What's your story?"

"Snerk."

Matt looked up, and unsurprisingly saw Joseph snoring away in the other bed. He shrugged and got under his own covers. He didn't need to sleep what with the Word of Will and everything, but he'd always enjoyed it, and old habits died hard.

And so, after a few days of uneasy sleep and bad conditions, the group drifted off into blissful slumber.

Meanwhile, not everyone was sleeping so soundly. Uther Brinker, mayor of Baguba, was up reading through airship commission reports. The Brinkers had been mayors of Baguba for four generations now, mainly because no one else wanted to be. It was boring, merciless work keeping such a small but rich city like Baguba afloat, and the pay was not as good as some people think. After all, it was a monthly salary taken from city taxes, and citizens would be rather angry if the mayor of their city was getting rich off of their taxes. Luckily, the Brinkers were already Spartan in manner and the Bagubians rather respected their somber family tradition, as it made them excellent leaders. Uther had run the city for twenty years now, and needed but two hours of sleep a day, which he got at three o'clock face down on his desk. It was a god awful job being mayor, but someone had to do it.

He was rather surprised when his secretary, a cute young intern from the Baguba College of Business came in. She looked like a rabbit staring down the barrel of a riot gun. "There's a fellow named Karl Victorson and his partner Cassandra saying they are representing Katzu Cross, kupo. Shall I bring them in, Mr. Brinker?"

Uther rubbed his eyes. Why did the government insist on coming in at such an hour? "Yes, send them in, kupo. You may leave, though, Carli. No doubt your boy's waiting for you, kupo."

Carli blushed a bit and thanked Uther before scurrying out. After she left, the two government officers came in. They were both wearing the standard uniform of Katzu's Black Eagles, his "secret" police force of elite Judgemasters. This was a black officer's outfit, with a black cap and a fine steel cuirass. The moogle, Karl, had a pistol stuck in his holster, while miss Cassandra had a rapier strapped to her shapely hip. It was odd to see a pair of Eagles in uniform, as they were a plain clothes unit used to monitor the city. Katzu couldn't take control of the individual cities, for they had been too independent for too long. Still, no governor knew how many Eagles there were in his city, and that kind of surveillance led to good behavior.

"Kupo, how may I help you two? Would you like a drink to drive out the cold?" Uther waved to the small wet bar in his office. "I've allowed Carli the night off, so I'll get it for you, kupo."

"We want to keep this short, kupo. We only want to know how the investigations are going for the suspects who burst through the city this morning. We would also like a warrant to search the house of Erik Winston."

Uther nodded. He knew that this would come. "Quite frankly, I don't think it's any of your business how the investigation is going, kupo. Oh, and no, you can't have a warrant. Katzu and you Judgemasters have jurisdiction over anywhere in Ivalice kupo, but you only have whatever power within the city that the city gives you. Baguba law states that all investigations are conducted by the local City Watch, and you are allowed if and only if I give you permission. You haven't asked for it, and I doubt I'd give it, kupo. You Black Eagles are a bit too shady for my liking, and I think the Watch will do fine without your help, kupo. If that's all, you'd better get back to Cyril and tell His Eminence that Baguba belongs to itself, and no man. We'll pay our tariffs, give you soldiers, make you airships, but we still belong to ourselves, kupo. I hear a storm's coming in from Sprohm, so you'd best hurry if you want to make it to Cyril, kupo."

The two Eagles stood in silence. They knew that the Brinkers were frank and honest, but to make such an obvious attack on the Supreme Judgemaster's authority. This was going to be more trouble than they thought. Karl dipped his head a bit in acknowledgement of Uther. "Kupokupo. Very well, Mr. Brinker. We shall see each other again, I'm sure, kupo. Come along, Cassandra." The two exited the building and headed down the road to their hotel room. Cassandra brought out a pack of cigarillos and offered one to her partner. He took it and they both quickly lighted up. They walked and smoked in silence for a while.

"This is a lot more difficult than I though it would be, kupo," Karl started.

Cassandra nodded and flicked some ash off her cigarillo. She was rather silent.

"Not that we need any information anyway. We know they crashed near the Winston company, that one of the passengers was a black haired moogle black mage, and that Erik's niece had studied at the Cyril School of Elemental Arts, kupo. I don't need to be a detective to know where they are, kupo."

Cassandra nodded again. Karl had finished his first cigarillo, and she offered him another one.

"Thanks, kupo. Anyway, what choice do we have?"

"We know they're going to Bierlond, and we know almost for certain they'll go by air ship. We should set an ambush for them." Those were the only words Cassandra had said for the entire day.

Karl nodded and practically inhaled the rest of his second cigarillo. "Exactly what I was thinking, kupo. Send a pigeon to Cyril and have them get me my war pinnace. We shall see what we can do, kupo."

**So, it was a bit longer this time, eh? Yeah, it's mostly talking, but it's interesting to see these characters develop, no? The next chapter's going to be pretty actiony, as it's the thrilling conclusion of The Hitchhiker's Guide to Ivalice!! Le gasp! This fic shall be done before summer ends. So, see you all before the vernal equinox!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Welcome to the final chapter of the Hitchhiker's guide to Ivalice. This is the climax of the story, and thus, is a bit long. There was so much I had to put in here and it may seem a bit intimidating. I considered chopping it in two, but the story's integrity would suffer so I kept it in its entirety. At any rate, I just ask you be patient and pace yourself while reading it. This is definitely the most ambitious thing that I have ever written, and I humbly ask that you drop a review to tell me how it went. **

**Speaking of reviews, this chapter goes out to Sage. It was this fellow and his very first review of my fic that gave me the little confidence boost I needed to continue, He's been with me ever since, cheering me on and kicking me in the pants when necessary. For those of you who don't know, the character of Matt was based off of him. It was my little gift to such a great guy. Thanks, man.**

**But before this starts sounding TOO much like a movie award show, onto the Final Chapter! Awaaaayy!!!**

_Katzu and the Judgemasters have supreme authority over all matters in Ivalice, but the cities have remained constitutionally independent. Essentially what this means is that the cities must muster troops for the army if Katzu demands it, they must pay whatever taxes he declares, and they must swear fealty to him in times of war, but once any judgemaster steps into one of the major cities or one of the smaller towns surrounding it, they are under its law._

_The main reason for this is that despite owning the largest fighting force Ivalice has ever seen, the cities are too well established as autonomous city states. When he declared Cyril his base of operations, an odd agreement was formed. Katzu got a piece of land deemed outside of the city's jurisdiction, and he agreed to follow Cyril's laws when actually in Cyril. The agreement was likened to two people on opposite sides of a scale overlooking a really deep pit. If one person pushes the other off, they both go tumbling, so in the end, each party just pretends the other person doesn't exist. _

_Sprohm had its mighty army to support it, and Katzu had already suffered one defeat against St. Grigori's monks. Because of this, he wasn't wanting to make the bangaa any more angry than normal. Muscadet, surrounded by the wild forests on one side and the silver mines on the other, was a tactician's nightmare. The nu mou of Cadoan merely sent an emissary with a message saying they would very much appreciate it if Katzu never set foot in their city. Ever. Any Black Eagles stationed there never came back. It's currently the safest haven for political fugitives._

_But what of Baguba? It was nowhere near as strong as the other cities, had almost no protection, and only Sprohm was closer to Cyril. Why couldn't Katzu take the moogle's beloved city, and the mighty banks, factories, and coffers full of cash that came with it? Well, the fact was that Baguba had an army of its own. It was more powerful than any army before it, and all of the cities in Ivalice feared its might. It was an army of commerce. Its generals were bankers, its commandos were lawyers._

_Since all major holdings were sure to go through Baguba at least once, most all large private businesses needed Baguba to stay independent, or else Katzu would own them as well. Along with that, if at any time one of the larger Baguba banks decided to call in its debts, the entire country economy would crash. The banking firm of Winston, Winston, and Winston was particularly powerful, and actually owns two thirds of Baguba itself as collateral, considered the filet mignon of real estate. The Winstons, more humorous than you'd imagine three sixty year old bankers to be, have a large bronze plaque on the front of their building which reads: "You mess with us, you mess with your money. Kupo."_

_It is no surprise that Katzu really, really hates the Winston family._

On a bank of the Ulei River, something very interesting indeed was not happening. A small war pinnace class airship and a larger royal sloop were not being dropped down under the cover of the morning fog. Forty soldiers in identical black uniforms and of varying race were not coming from different parts of the river and making their ways to the ships which also weren't there. They were not each wearing a steel cuirass, darkened by smoke purposefully so it wouldn't glint. They were not grimly sharpening swords, choosing rods, or twirling knives in preparation for a battle. And they were most definitely not all looking towards Karl, who had two cigarillos in his mouth, his entire face wreathed in smoke. It was quite amazing, all this stuff not happening in such detail.

"You have been chosen for this mission specifically because you are the best., kupo. You are our finest sailors," he nodded to a pair of black and white speckled moogles. Their faces were obscured by a black scarf across their jaws, but their luminous yellow eyes flickered in acknowledgement and they gave him a quiet "kupo," in return. "Our greatest fighters," he looked towards a band of humans and bangaa, each holding a great blade in one hand and a shield in the other. "And our keenest strategists, kupo," three nu mous looked back at Karl with a benign look, as if they'd just noticed him. "Our mission is simple, kupo. Our primary goal, which should be completed no matter the cost, is to find and capture this nu mou, kupo," with that, he held up a portrait of Roland. "He is to be captured alive and unscathed if possible, kupo. You are also to capture this young moogle, of the Winston family, kupo." He brought out a picture of Beth. There were a few wolf whistles from some of the moogles. "Capture her alive as well. And untouched kupo," he growled. "The holy man must make it to Roda, but everyone else is expendable, kupo. Understood?"

"Yes sir!!" came the reply automatically. These were the best, after all. There wasn't a doubt that they would accomplish the mission.

Karl nodded. "Very well. The twenty five that make up Cassandra's team head to the Ivy Lady. You are under her command. The other fifteen will join me on the Storm Crow. Move out!"

The Black Eagles broke away almost instantly. They tromped up the gang planks. The ramps were retracted. The boilers were lit. The turbines were calibrated. One of the black speckled moogles tied his black jacket around his waist, put on a pair of goggles and cracked his knuckles.

"Fire up the super heaters, kupo. Release main valve two, kupo," he called in a barely audible whisper. The appropriate lever was pulled by a human, who had stripped down like his superior. "Let down the pressure in pipe five. Stand by for take off."

Karl walked about the upper deck of his pinnace as the troops rushed around. He was accompanied by a nu mou carrying a blue rod and a large red bangaa who wore a heavy hood and cloak instead of the normal black forage cap of the Black Eagles. "Lieutenant, send a semaphore to Cassandra saying we're ready to take off, kupo."

The nu mou nodded and brought out an identical blue rod and went to the bow of the ship. He waved the two rods in a complex maneuver. It was answered by two green rods on the sloop's bow. "The message has been sent, commander," the lieutenant called. "The countdown has been initiated. Five minutes to take off."

Karl waved at the Lieutenant with his two cigarillos. He looked down to see that they were all but finished. "Um, colonel, you wouldn't happen to have any smokes on you, would you kupo?"

The bangaa offered the moogle officer a cigar at least seven inches long. "It's a Cadoan Sage's Suicide. My daughter got me a box of them for my birthday, but I'm trying to quit. Would you like them?"

Karl took the massive roll of tobacco and sniffed it. "Very nice, kupo. I'd appreciate that very much, actually. But what can you tell me about the ship Erik Winston currently has in port, kupo?"

The bangaa nodded and brought out a piece of paper from under his cloak. "The Winstons have two heavy fluyts back from Cyril carrying cotton and three light merchantmen from Cadoan, the Kudik Peaks, and Roda, respectively. All paperwork for the Roda flight was filed two weeks in advance. They also have four of their smaller barques just coming back from various smaller towns. Shipping grain, I believe. It's a standard route for them."

Karl thought about this as he bit off one end of the giant cigar he was offered. Lighting it, he took a small puff like most cigar smokers take, and blew out the white smoke in a practiced ring. "Is that chocolate I taste, kupo? I always wondered why the nu mous did that to their cigars," he said smiling. Then he started to think about the information the colonel had just given him. "Kupo, fluyts are too slow if they want to get over the border. The merchantmen are a bit quicker, and better defended kupo, but no real match against a true military vessel. Trying to run a border in a barque is just suicide, kupo. Do they have anything else, kupo? Maybe Mr. Winston has a yacht or something?"

The colonel brought out another piece of paper. "This is rather interesting, actually. We don't know if it's in port, it's practically a legend. Two years ago, Mr. Winston had a new ship commissioned at the Rosen and Richards Shipwright Company. None of my port spies has ever seen it dock, and the project may have been scrapped, but if I was going to try to outrun the government, I'd do it in this."

Karl took a look at the paper. It was a schematic for a ship, but like a ship he had never seen before. His eyes popped out as they darted across the paper, taking in every detail of this new class of ship.

"Kupo," he said weakly. "When the Winstons want to build a blockade runner, they don't spare any expense, do they?"

The bangaa colonel nodded. "It's an amazing craft, isn't it?

Karl stared at the schematics a for a few moments longer. "Colonel, how long would it take to get something a bit more… substantial, kupo?"

"Given top priority, I can get one of the lighter war brigs in about two hours."

Karl nodded and puffed on his cigar. "Mobilize one as soon as you can, kupo. I appreciate your help very much, Colonel."

The bangaa nodded slightly. "This is quite an undertaking, commander. Should you fail, you would have attacked a very prominent merchant's vessel without any warrant. Not even probable cause. You can't plead you were helping with the runaway case because you were given no authorization by Mayor Brinker. You know what would happen than, don't you? You know what the Black Eagles would have to do to you?"

Karl looked about the deck of his ship, the cigar firmly clenched in his teeth. "I won't fail, kupo. I requested the best, I got the best."

The red colonel looked at Karl and a mixture of pity and admiration flashed behind his hood. "For your sake, commander Victorson, I hope you're right."

Joseph was completely catatonic. His eyes were glazed over. His mouth hung agape. There might have been some drool trickling down his jaw. "Ku… ku…," he stuttered.

"We never had craft like this in my day," Roland said, also staring.

"Ku… ku…"

"It's like a lightning bolt was transformed into an airship," Matt said Yes, he was staring as well. As a matter of fact, so were Arthur and Beth. The entire party was gaping at the airship before them.

It was not the largest ship they had ever seen, it was much smaller than a small brigantine. It wasn't the most beautiful ship they had ever seen, its swirly nondescript gray paint and low gloss finishing made it almost melt into the wall and anything metal had been blackened to dull shining.

But if you ever saw a ship that embodied speed, this would be it. The hull of the vessel was in a concave V shape. Its keel looked like it had been sharpened to cut through the clouds themselves. Its long, low slung shape extended to the smokestacks, which dipped down and snaked across the stern. The bow was raked forward and came to a steel tipped point. It looked like an arrow, ready to be fired from a bow.

"Kupo," Joseph finally managed.

Erik stood beside them, serious pride on his face. "She's beautiful, isn't she, kupo?"

"I don't think I'd have ask if this ship can get us to Roda," Arthur said in awe. "I'm more worried it would leave me behind."

"Uncle Erik, you really don't have to do this, kupo. I'm serious."

Mr. Winston smiled at his niece and shook his head. "Oh, but I really do, kupo. We Winston's can't have one of our own being taken by that Famfrit blasted usurper Katzu, kupo. Your grandfather, my father, would writhe in his grave if that happened." You could hear the enmity in his voice as he spoke of the Supreme Judgemaster.

Despite this, Arthur had to clarify something that had been nagging him since he had met Mr. Winston. "Umm, Mr. Winston? Pardon my asking, but I know that Isaac Winston's brothers created the banking firm Winston, Winston, and Winston with a lot of the money and assets he got from questing. How many siblings did Isaac have?"

"Just the three brothers, kupo."

"And how many kids did Isaac have?"

"Five, kupo. All sons."

"And how many children did all of you have put together?

"Thirteen. All sons as well, kupo. Well, all except for our little treasure here," he said, giving Beth a little hug.

"Yeah, yeah, kupo," Beth said, but returned the hug anyway. "So when are we lifting off, kupo?"

"In ten minutes. We need to go early, kupo, while this storm front's blowing in from Sprohm. The clouds will give the ship good cover, kupo."

"Where are our quarters, Master Winston?" Roland asked. "My apprentice must bring in my luggage and he has studies he must attend to post haste."

"Am I proof reading your notes again, master?"

"Shush."

"They are below decks, Roland. And I must say, it was a pleasure to meet you kupo. I had an excellent time talking to you about your adventuring days. Now you're sure that the stones you found in that cave in the Kudik Peaks were opals, kupo?"

"Sir, I am a Sage. I study the primal forces of magic and nature. If I say the stones are opals, they are opals."

"Hmmm," he said, twirling his tiny mustache in his slender fingers. "I think I'll stop by my uncle's firm and have a look at some of the deeds, kupo. One of my younger sons just acquired a shield factory and those opals could help increase revenue."

"Well, I hope if you do find them you'll be kind enough to make a small contribution to my studies. I may have some information you'd find lucrative."

"Of course, kupo. Did you ever perfect that improved sleep spell? I have a warehouse of generic staves we could imbue with it. If we got them out before next Sagemoon, we could exhibit them at the tradeshow in Cadoan, kupo. The bishops would go crazy for them, kupo."

"I think that would be quite…" Roland stopped scheming to look at Matt. "Apprentice, what are you doing still sitting here? Go get my luggage, quickly now!"

"Yes master," Matt said, quickly trotting towards the Winston's coach.

"Um, Mr. Winston," Arthur cut in. "I realize this ship relies on camouflage and speed for protection, so it's unsurprising it has no cannons or armor. But do you have anything in the off chance that we get ambushed?"

Erik smiled. "Follow me to the fore deck of the ship, Arthur. I have something that may let you rest easy, kupo."

Meanwhile, Joseph had wandered off and found himself in the boiler room. His little engineer mind was going haywire as he took in everything around him. Cogs clacked about, twirling endlessly. Pipes snaked in and out of the walls, bristling with gauges. In the middle of everything there was the boiler, a massive structure wrought from wood and black iron. It's great grated maw was open and black, not yet hungry. Soon though, it would demand to be fed.

"Hey, it's one of the lubbers, kupo," came a rough voice behind him. A wiry old moogle walked in. He was dressed up in the style of steam mechanics everywhere, with nothing on his chest but a tank top stained by oil and sweat, his pants rolled up to the knees. Said pants were held up by a large black belt stuffed with tools.

"This is a boil-er" said his companion, a tall leggy Vierra stripped down in the same manner. She was enunciating each word as if she was talking to a simpleton. Airship crews had a tendency to be a bit condescending towards those who were tied to the ground. "Do you know what a boil-er does?"

"It powers the engine on the second floor through steam kupo," Joseph said, not paying attention to them. Being a foreman at his age, he was used to people treating him like an idiot.

"Very good," she said with patronizing voice of encouragement. "Now this is what we call a-"

"Three hundred fifty gallon Baguba style crushed anthracite fueled boiler with a custom spiraled super heater and governor, kupo. Super heater's probably heated by gas, right?" He looked at the two dumbfounded mechanics and savored a small smile before turning to the Vierra. "You know, Vierra mechanics are rare and you look very familiar, kupo. Are you related Isabella Gardner?"

"She's my sister," she practically growled.

"Oh really? Small world, kupo. She works as one of the chief mechanics under me in my shaft," the look on the Vierra's face when he said "under" got about a hundred watts darker. "She's a hard worker, kupo and she's the only one who can work our twelve year old mining engine. It's got an old Iron Chocobo style single piston engine. I'm always afraid the thing's going to blow up in our face, but she keeps it running smoothly. I feel better knowing her sister's handling the engine on this ship, kupo. What's your name?"

"Anastasia," she said, now actually growling.

Joseph nodded. "A pleasure, kupo. Well, I shouldn't get in you guy's way, right?" With that, he walked out.

The older moogle grinned and nudged his partner. "Well Annie, he certainly showed you, kupo."

"Just get the other engineers," she snapped.

Meanwhile, on the top, Arthur was given an introduction to the ship's defense system.

"These are gun skiffs, kupo," Erik explained.

"They're about the size of a large dingy," Arthur said, marveling at the simplicity of the design. The skiffs were almost completely stripped down, with the tiniest scrap of armor on its hull. "The engine looks pretty small, though."

Erik nodded. "These things do more gliding than actual flying, kupo. See, they're meant to be really quick. You just fire the grapple gun into the hull," he pointed to the large crossbow like gun attached to the skiff's stern. "Then you rake the deck with gatling gun fire," he pointed to the crank powered gun on the starboard. "And board the ship, kupo. You don't exchange manly broadsides with a ship like this, kupo. Just get onto the ship and disable it from the inside. We have three of them on the ship. If you're in danger, they're launched off the hull to distract the ship, and the runner bolts."

"But for this to work, you'd need something like a team of marines. People who do this kind of thing for a living."

Erik grinned and waved to the boarding ramp. "That's exactly what I did, kupo. Got the best team money could buy. Arthur, meet Larson Brown and his group. They're better than any unit serving under Katzu, kupo."

A huge human man with a beard that stirs up pictures great plagues and stone tablets winked at the two of them as he made his way across the deck. "A pleasure to work with you again, Mr. Winston. Few of the other merchants see my crew's use in the cut throat world of private commerce."

Arthur looked at Larson. "Sir, we monks of St Grigori observe the practice of privacy, but I never got the hang of it. So, just out of curiosity, are you a pirate?"

Larson grinned and gave a hearty laugh. "Oho, good father. You accuse me and my perfectly law abiding crew of being thieving, murderous scalawags? We run a perfectly legitimate salvage business."

"With a Samson sword and a sawed off slug thrower?" For you non savvy types out there, a slug thrower is slang for a shotgun loaded not with the standard lead pellet shot, but instead a lead "slug" about the size of your thumb. One shot could go through three guys, break through a door, and sunder the engine behind it.

"Well, sometimes business gets slow and we need to make our own salvage if you know what I mean," Larson said grinning. "I'm just a bit surprised a holy man would know so much about weaponry."

"We St. Grigori monks also observe the practice of scholarship."

"You really latched onto that one, didn't ye?" Larson asked, his eyebrows raised. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I'll be with the rest of the crew below decks until we're needed."

As Larson walked off, Erik looked up at Arthur and patted his thigh. He couldn't reach his back, you see. "Don't worry, kupo. I've met other traders and industrialists who make Larson's crew look like a boy's choir. You'll be fine with them, kupo."

Arthur looked down at Erik. "Mr. Winston, I sincerely hope so. You have done so much for us, I pray that it isn't for nothing."

Erik shook his head. "Arthur, I have spared every expense possible. It's the Winston way, kupo. I know that it's been stressful, but now, it's in my hands. So don't worry."

Arthur smiled. Beth was weird; why would she want to distance herself from her family? If they were all like her uncle, he had never met a more caring group of people. "Thank you very much, Mr. Winston. For everything. Your home was the only place that I've felt comfortable in since I left the monastery."

"Those beds are the best money can buy, kupo. Glad you liked them"

Arthur grinned. "Sir, I'm an ascetic monk. I normally sleep on a woven rush matt in a room half the size of your closet with a piece of rough wool covering me. And I have a roommate. What felt comfortable was the sense of caring that permeated your house. It was everywhere."

Erik, a fairly serious man all things considered, nodded and smiled a bit. "That's quite a compliment, kupo. Well kupo, it's almost time for all of you to hop the border. See you in a few months." With this, Erik Winston walked off the gangplank, and back to whatever scheming he had been letting cook for the past few days.  
Looking around, Arthur realized all the activity that had been going on around him. The rest of Larson's crew was heading below decks, the ropes tying down the ship were being slung off, and the deep humming of the turbine starting up could be heard. Our young white monk decided he'd better go to his room and keep out of the way.

Minutes later, this nameless ghost of a ship rose from the dock and into the dusky sky. It was almost as if it was never there.

As Erik had said, he had spared no expense on the making of his blockade runner, and had outfitted it just as much as a private yacht as an escape ship. He couldn't put anything too heavy as it would affect its speed, so there wasn't a kitchen or a billiards table or anything like that, but he did put in a very nicely decorated lunge and fully stocked wet bar. Roland was enjoying a pleasant Chocohito as his apprentice continued his ahem studies.

"And you forgot to use a hyphen again when you wrote odd-looking. Why do you insist on not using hyphens, master?"

"Because they are both worthless and displeasing to the eye," the sage said as he swirled his drink contemplatively. "A small, festering ink gash where a pleasant space should be, I say. Now continue."

Matt sighed and dipped his quill into the red ink pot again. Here's a nu mou who designs a new spell every other day and yet he writes so quickly he spelled ship as ghippe. How is that even possible? Nonetheless, he had been learning a lot under him. "It's done, master," he said, giving this morning's stack of papers back. "So what's the lesson today?"

"Patience, my eager apprentice, for I must finish my delicious drink." Roland then proceeded to casually sip at the bright yellow cocktail for ten minutes, with a few unintelligible "hmmm"s and "ahhh"s of pleasure. "That was a very good drink, if I do say so myself. I like how that Erik fellow thinks. Terrible shame I never met his father. Yes, yes, I know," he said as he saw his apprentice's anxious face. "But first, a question. What is alchemy?"

"A crutch for those who cannot work magic in its true natural form," Matt said automatically. Roland, a dyed in the wool sage, never did approve of alchemy, saying that all that fiddling about with the elixirs and elements and such wasn't proper magic.

"Correct. Now how does it work?"

"By breaking down available components into simple elements, and rearranging them for desired magical synergy."

"Precisely. And though it can never match the primal magic that I teach you for power, it does have its benefits. Observe." With this, Roland took Matt's saber. "It isn't visible to the naked eye, but with a touch of magic properly placed," Roland sent a gentle pulse of magic down the blade's hilt. It spread to the blade, and the outline of an odd symbol twisted into a perfect circle glowed blue. "There. A magic circle. Now, how does this particular piece of alchemy work?"

"By twisting the natural magic within the circle so that it has a new effect on the environment."

"Good, good. These can do anything from reverse the flow of time within the circle or create a magical magnet that sucks in the power around it, making a very messy situation you'd better pray you never end up in. This particular one helps channel the specific frequencies of magic used to learn blue magic from beasts. Now for the fun part of the lesson."

Roland hiked up his kilt and hopped out of his chair. Taking one finger, he plunged it into his pipe. It came out blackened from the ash. "Making a magical circle is a surprisingly easy thing to learn, but you must be meticulous. First, you must make a perfect circle. Because this is ridiculously difficult, almost to the point of impossibility, we have these handy stencils." Reaching into his kilt, he brought out two pieces of metal with a circle punched in the middle. Putting one down on the floor, he ran his sooty finger around the perimeter. He then put his finger in the middle and snaked some magical energy into the rim. "You're turn, apprentice."

Matt put his finger in the pipe ash and did the same with his stencil and circle.

"Next, we need an aura amplifier. Something that will make the magic within the circle visible so we can work with it. There are a few, but I go in for powdered snake toenails."

"Where do you get that, master?" Matt asked, severely confused. I mean, snake toenails?

"Oh, you can get a pot of the stuff for twenty gil by the ounce at any decent alchemy supply store. I never ask how they get it. Anyway," with this, he threw some green powder into the circle. It dissipated after a second, and left a tangle of glowing blue string about as thick as a shoe lace. "Now, you just shape the magic. Take a bit of your own, run it into your hands, and just coil and move it about into the desired shape. Now this one's pretty simple so you can be a bit slap dash with it. Once you get into the higher end stuff, you'll probably want a grid, some mythril holding pins, some mythril tweezers, a compass and triangle, and so on. But really, this is about how complicated you want it to be. Anything else is just ridiculous." Finished, he stepped back to observe his work. It looked like an hourglass with three lines going down it. "Now you give it a good slap, and you're ready to go."

"So, what does this particular circle do, master?"

"Hmm? Oh, deconstruction." With that, he slapped his hand into the middle of the circle and a hole appeared in the floor. There was a scream and a rivet was shot up through the hole and got Roland in the middle of the forehead. The sage keeled over in a deliberate, dignified fashion, rather like a large tree.

Matt swept away the circle encasing the spell, and the hole popped out of existence. Then he looked at his teacher. The rivet appeared to have done merely aesthetic damage to his head. "Master, are you okay?"

"Quite fine, apprentice, quite fine. I was right about that Vierra machinist though. There was nothing fake about her."

"I still say she had some kind of cosmetic magic done on her. She seemed a bit too perky in various places. And did you open up a hole under the female changing room on purpose?"

"Apprentice, I do everything for a purpose. Now go study the section in your basic magic book on magic circles. We will review later on."

Matt shook his head and picked up his things before trotting up the stairway to the main deck. As he finally stepped onto the surface of the ship, he was welcomed by violin music. Intrigued, Matt followed the music to the bow of the ship. Though technically morning, people tend to still be asleep at four o'clock in the AM. As such, Joseph was beautifully silhouetted before the slightly orange tinged cloud crowded sky as he played his violin. This wasn't the jig they had played on the cart going towards Baguba. This was a music that tugged on your heart strings and bruised your brain. This was music that made you smile and cry and think.

Matt smiled as he walked behind his moogle friend, deciding not to disturb him. He and Joseph had developed a friendship almost by necessity. They were the only two young men on the trip besides Arthur, who really didn't count being a monk and all. He found rocks comfortable for goodness sake. How do you talk to a guy like that about your problems?

Joseph, meanwhile, wasn't thinking about anything at all. His mind was miles away, nothing but the music was allowed to enter it. His entire soul was being poured into that violin and each time the bow was pulled against the strings, a tiny part of him drifted into the night sky. It was as if through the music, he was trying to fill the entire night with himself. The soft sound grew and grew with each passing moment of music, the notes melting together into bitter sweet singing of the spirit. And then, as the song came to a close, Joseph retreated back into the tiny frame of his body.

"Don't stop, kupo."

Joseph snapped his head backwards to behold Beth, not in the black mage garb she had worn since the beginning of their adventure, but a purple sun dress, cut at the calf. Her feet were bare, and he saw two golden anklets on them. She wore green eye shadow that made her golden brown eyes shine out like two beacons. He felt his face warming as his world slowly lost focus and all he saw was Beth. Nothing seemed real but her lustrous black hair, her perfect soft lips, her beautifully voluptuous figure. She was the only thing in his existence. He didn't attempt to say anything as he knew he wouldn't be able to make words with his tied tongue.

"You play so beautifully, kupo," she said as she walked to his side.

"A-aren't you cold, k-kupo?" he finally managed to stutter. He himself was wearing a gray jack coat and scarf to combat the cold. Not that he was complaining of course but- "Kupo, did I actually think that?" he thought to himself, surprised and appalled at his own brain.

Beth didn't seem to notice his exchange with himself for she just smiled and took one of his hands. And put it on her waist. Oh my.

"I'm warming myself up with magic, kupo. See? I was always good with fire at the academy."

Indeed, Joseph was warming up, as much by his prize winning blush as by Beth's spell and proximity, which was really, really close.

"Here, kupo. Let's warm you up." She sat herself in Joseph's lap and wrapped his arms around her.

"Aaaahh," was all Joseph managed to get his tortured voice box to say. This was too much. Running blockades, escaping Judges, aggressively beautiful women. Oh, he would give anything to be back in Muscadet. The shaft was looking promising, and he'd just gotten approved for the new budget. They'd be sinking the new addition in about now and- "Wait a minute, kupo, who are you kidding?" came that renegade voice in his head again. "Here is a girl who's smart, nice, funny, and drop dead gorgeous, and you're thinking of MINING kupo?! What's wrong with you?!"

"But this isn't me, kupo!" said the other part, "I am boring, I'm terribly scared of beautiful women, and I LIKE mining, kupo!"

"As much as you like Beth, kupo?"

"Well, I-"

"No thinking!" the voice yelled. "Would you give up your job if it allowed you to stay with Beth for the rest of your life, kupo?!"

"Umm-,"

"Stop thinking!!" the voice bellowed, pressing the offensive. "Yes or no, kupo?!?"

"Yes!!" he yelled. Like actually yelled. He was no longer in the realm of his own brain. Beth heard him pretty clearly.

"What was that a yes to, kupo?" she said slowly.

Joseph stared at her. Well, it couldn't get any more awkward, could it? The deviant voice had won out, so he leaned forward and planted a kiss on Beth's perfectly luscious lips.

Haha. No no, just kidding. We can't let him get off that easy, after all. The poor fellow bumped Beth's nose with his, and there was a slight pain shared by both of them, followed by a little rub of the nose.

"Sorry kupo. Oh kupokupokupo, I'm sorry," Joseph was blushing so brightly his face was about the same hue as his hair.

Beth giggled a bit. "Thank Famfrit, kupo," she said to herself. "I was starting to get afraid he wasn't into me. Aww, he's so cute though." With that thought, she put one hand behind his head, and guided Joseph's mouth towards hers.

Now this was a kiss. This was a kiss worthy of Gone With the Wind or Casablanca. It was a kiss that could go on for centuries, the kind of kiss that made fireworks go off. Which is why the cannon shell that blew up right beside them was all the more ridiculous.

The shot cannoned them both to the side, Joseph landing on top of Beth. Normally, the deviant voice in his head would be telling him to make the most of this, but it was joining the rest of his brain in screaming about whatever the heck was lodged into his chest.

Beth cried out when she saw the piece of the deck that had been thrown into Joseph's chest. "Joseph, are you still there kupo?" she said, nerves choking her voice.

"That was amazing kupo," he whispered. A trickle of blood was coming from his mouth.

"Oh Famfrit, you're bleeding internally. No, kupo. Don't die. Don't die, Joseph!" She was crying now. Giant tears were running down her cheeks and dripping off her whiskers.

"He won't, mistress," came a deep voice behind her. Looking up, she saw the great form of Larson Brown, his face solemn. "They'll pay for this, I promise. Jack! Get the moogle down to the sage! And hurry! We're launching the skiffs!"

Jolly Jack, a monstrous tattooed bangaa, carefully scooped up Joseph. Then he picked up Beth in his free hand and carefully sprinted towards the stairwell. Shells were whistling from the sky, but most of them were falling short. The ship was too fast to get a handle on. Still though, one or two managed to find a target and made the race there a bit more difficult. Jack bounded down the stairs three at a time, and burst through the door to the lounge.

Roland was sitting at the bar, nursing a red, orange, and green drink in what looked like a wine glass that was slightly smaller than a punch bowl. "Oh, has the fun started already?" he asked, not looking towards them. Roland had been in many bombardments before, and he found the best thing to do were to ignore them. One way or another, they would pass. Whether you did as well was a mere formality.

Jack carefully placed Joseph on the floor and Beth beside him. "This moogle is dying, Mr. Roland." Having completed his task, he ran back up the stairs.

At the sound of Jack's sentence, Roland's sleepy eyes snapped open. He hopped off of his stool and looked at Joseph. All color had drained out of his face. His grayish blue eyes were dilated and his entire body was shaking in uncontrollable spasms.

"He's going into shock. Beth, I need you to go get Matt." Beth had almost completely broken down, and was sobbing uncontrollably. "Beth, you must get Matt. Get Matt, Beth. BETH, GET MATT." The last time he said that, Roland's voice had an otherworldly authority to it. Beth finally got up and ran to the stairwell.

Meanwhile, Roland said a few soothing words and touched Joseph's face. He stopped shaking, and his erratic breathing became deep and regular. "Sleep now, my young friend. For truly, you have one hell of a day ahead of you."

Two hundred feet above, the bombardment was continuing on a royal sloop painted all black. Cassandra looked on with a nu mou in the Black Eagle garb. Her companion had his eyes shut and his hands out as if he was feeling for something.

"They are about a hundred feet from point blank range," he said.

Cassandra looked the way that the nu mou's arms were stretched. "Send the message to Karl to make the drop," she called to a human with two glowing green rods in her hands. The human gestured with them, and got an answering flash back through the thick clouds from Karl's ship.

"Drop initialized, Captain," the human said.

Cassandra nodded. She wasn't one for such things as talking or even expressions, but she did allow herself a small smile of satisfaction. Her commander was a very impulsive person, but he always seemed to know what he was doing. Just so long as the boarding went on without a hitch, it would have been like the Black Eagles were never there, the way they try to leave anywhere they've been to.

"Captain, I'm starting to pick something up," the nu mou beside her said. His hands swung around as if they had locked on to something. "It's very small, but too big to be a bird. It might be a renegade weather balloon or something."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. Weather balloons were known to come undone and drift off, but she wasn't one to trust odds. "Bring up the troops. I have a bad feeling about-"

Just before she could finish her foreshadowing, a quick staccato sound blasted down, as bullets sprayed. Tracers lit up the deck as they ripped into the light armored plating of the hull. Cassandra and the two officers with her dropped to the floor and crawled to the door into the sloop's cabin. In there were the other troops not working on the engines or at the helm. There were sixteen in all, mainly vierra. They had been equipped with a carbine and bayonet, which they had fixed to their gun's nozzle. They were all up against the walls and crouched under the windows as bullets flew through the broken openings. The machine gun fire finally died down and Cassandra issued orders. "Load weapons and form a defensive perimeter around this room. Don't shoot until my mark. Now move!"

All of a sudden a judge appeared, shining armor and all. "This is a conflict between Cassandra Thesba and Larson Brown!! Color magic and instruments are forbidden!"

The Black Eagles, ignoring their much more shiny companion, moved like ghosts. They swiftly crouched in front of the windows, raising their guns to eye level.

"Wait for them to make their move," she said.

On top of the roof, Larson listened and stroked his beard. "Make a move, eh? Well, let's see if I can cook up a good gambit." Six other men were with him. Larson's group ran the gamut from Jolly Jack to a fellow who looked like buzzard carrying two boarding axes. There were guns, swords, axes, a spear, and one fellow who was just hefting an exceptionally large club. They were a stark contrast from their adversaries, who looked as unidentifiable and uniform as ants. By contrast, Larson's crew were as oddly pieced together as a suit of thirty year old chain mail that was knitted by an eighty year blind man who with an allergy to metal. The only thing they all seemed to share was a smile. They truly enjoyed this stuff.

"Garrity has the other six in the second skiff circling the ship," the buzzard man whispered. "They'll drop down as soon as they hear the blast."

Larson nodded and grinned. "Well then, fetch my hammer so that I may do the honors." Excepting a long handled hammer from a nu mou who had a giant pack on his back, he hefted it and looked at the roof under them. With practiced ease, Larson brought the hammer down with all his might. The brittle tar soaked wood splintered and the thin wooden shingles burst, leaving a man sized hole in the roof. Two smoking black canisters were quickly thrown down the hole as gunfire ripped through the roof. Larson's crew danced around on the roof as bullets zipped by. A moogle caught a bullet through his left arm and made an impromptu sling with the sleeve of his jacket.

"You alright, Jim?" the pack nu mou said as he passed the moogle a potion.

Drinking it, Jim grinned. "It's just a part of my collection now, kupo. I got two more floating about in me."

The firing of guns was cut short as the grenades finally detonated. The interior of the cabin was lit up by a flash whose intensity was only matched by the teeth shattering screech that accompanied it. Four of the Vierra who were practically on top of the grenades fell unconscious after they went off. Everyone else was more than slightly dazed.

"Right, everyone," Larson bellowed. "Into the breach!!"

Each crew member stomped down on the weakened roof, causing it to cave in. A few of the Black Eagles inside had come to their senses, and fired their weapons into the hoard. Two went down with holes in their heads. This didn't stop the rest from diving into the Black Eagles. The buzzard man whirled about like a bladed tornado, his axes swinging wildly. One vierra attempted to lance him with her bayonet, only to have her stock chopped in half and a foot driven into her stomach. The other axe hacked through another Vierra's wrist who was attempting to reload.

Jolly Jack held two Eagles in each hand and slammed all four into the wall. The wounded moogle was standing beside the nu mou with the back pack, and each were emptying revolvers into any soldier who moved. The crew kept pushing the offensive, until only Cassandra and three Black Eagles remained standing.

Larson, his Samson sword gleaming red, grinned at Cassandra. "Well miss, care to just concede?"

The Black Eagle captain looked. Her troops had been devastated. She saw severed hands and legs, broken bones, head wounds, and worse. She wasn't going to let this go on any longer. She nodded.

"The engagement goes to Lars Brown!" The Judge bellowed. "But I must now place you under arrest for-"

"Sonny jim," Larson said, leveling his slug thrower at the Judge. "How about you go and sit in that little corner there for now, eh?"

As Larson tied up the judge, a few of his crew members started administering to individuals from both sides. The crippled moogle passed out potions, followed by the nu mou who pulled gauze and splints from his pack. He carefully cleaned, dressed, and set everything from removed fingers to severe puncture wounds. Finally, the buzzard man laid hands on some of the more serious cases and white magic flowed into their bodies. After that, the other crew members tied all the Black Eagle troops up as a formality. Can't be too careful, after all.

Finally satisfied with his handiwork, Larson turned towards Cassandra, now bound at her wrists and ankles. "Well, I reckon you're done for, so we'll probably just take you all to Baguba. No doubt, Kazu'll take care of you from there. So, enjoy these few hours of freedom, pretty ladies. They'll most likely be your last, no matter what happens to you. Sorry."

Cassandra decided it would be best not to tell Larson about the boarding party currently latched onto their main ship. As long as Karl got the targets, there was still hope for her squad.

As all this craziness was going on, Roland was getting his hands dirty a hundred feet below. "This is bad business, apprentice. But let's get started. Have you memorized the channeling circle?"

Matt nodded. "It was fairly simple, master."

Roland nodded and gave his apprentice a small stencil, a mirror, and some powdered snake toenails. "Here's your review. Put one on your head, quickly."

Dipping his finger into his inkwell, Matt traced the circle and started the spell.

"Bloody alchemy," Roland said as he got down onto the floor. He quickly slapped together four identical circles in a square around Joseph and drew lines of magic into each. Within the square, the light stayed exactly the same as it flickered around the rest of the room. He then made a channeling circle on the tip of his snout. Tapping it, the circle started to glow. Looking at his apprentice, he was happy to see he had quite proficiently shaped a channeling circle. "Quite a quick learner you are, apprentice." With that, he tapped the circle on Matt's head. "Now I need you to feed magic into me as I go into the square. It'll keep me moving as I operate on Joseph."

Matt nodded and closed his eyes in concentration. Roland felt the warmth of Matt's magic coursing through his body and strode into the square. Joseph was now completely still, every bodily function frozen in place. Sighing, he got down to the fun part. Tracing yet another circle with his sooty finger, he snaked his power into it. Instead of making a magic circle, it made a small pocket independent of the effects of the four magic circles around it. The giant splinter of wood and the flesh around it were now workable.

"Quickly, quickly," Roland muttered as he continually worked magic into the wound with one hand while guiding the splinter out with the other. This was a particularly dire situation, because he had to not only regenerate the flesh around the wound, keep one lung working while punctured, and keep numerous arteries from gushing, but he also had to imbue the blood in the circle with oxygen since the brain was currently stuck seven minutes in the past. Of course, if this was ninety plus years ago, he would have been able to pull the magic necessary to take the stupid thing out and heal the entire ensemble straight from the ether itself. "Blast it, the sooner I get back to my former power, the better. This is more alchemy then I'd care to use in all my life. There, it's done." Wiping the sweat from his brow, he got up and smudged away part of the square. With the structure broken, the spell collapsed and Joseph returned to sleeping restfully. "Keep running white magic into him for a few hours, apprentice. He'll need it to heal up the internal wounds. I am getting a drink. A strong drink."

"You deserve it, master," Matt said as he started to charge up his buddy. "You'll be fine, Joseph. Thanks to master, you'll be just fine."

Roland, not bothering to mix a drink, swiped a bottle of Erik's rye off the bar and headed up stairs. Taking a mighty swig of it, he sauntered up to the deck and took out his pipe, which still pretty full. Padding around in his kilt, he realized he had no matches. "Blast, I'd better go back down then."

"Don't move, Roland Nikolai, kupo."

Turning back to the deck, Roland found ten fellows menacing him with blades and guns. Karl was at the forefront, with a high caliber military rifle pointed directly at the sage. "Ahh, very nice. Do any of you happen to have a light?"

Before they could answer that, Roland sent a cyclone into their midst. It picked up five of them and slammed them into each other. Taking advantage of the surprise, Roland pulled out his mace and bashed Karl in the side of his head.

Another Judge appeared on the deck. "This is a conflict between Roland Nikolai and Karl Viktorson! Items and spears are forbidden!"

"Do spirits count as items?" Roland called as he dodged the slashing blades of Karl's party. While Cassandra's was almost exclusively Vierra, Karl had a band of humans and bangaa, each with a long straight blade and buckler. They seemed to be more proficient at close quarters combat, and Roland's beautiful kilt was being sliced to ribbons.

"No!" The judge bellowed.

"Oh good then." with that, Roland spun around and smashed the remaining booze over the head of a bangaa that had been catching up. Another bangaa leapt over his companion and drove his clawed foot into Roland's chest. It was a good solid hit, and the sage was knocked to other side of the deck.

Karl, finally sorting himself out after Roland's savage first attack, brought his gun up and towards the sage's form. His ten subordinates, all of which were still standing, formed a loose semi circle around him. " Mr. Nikolai, this is your final warning, kupo. We're to take drastic measures after this."

Roland smiled slightly as he heaved himself up. "more drastic than setting ten fine young lads after one old sage like me? I think I'll resist just to see what you have in store for me."

At that, each of the ten troops sheathed their swords and brought out a noose. Roland raised his eyebrows. "It's always good to know you're important enough to be wanted alive. "Well then lets get this over with."

Karl pulled the trigger on his gun.

"Kupo, that was gunfire!" Beth exclaimed. She was with Arthur, who had been comforting her ever since she got Matt. It was something he knew how to do, as he couldn't count the times he had stayed up with loved ones as their friends and family members began their drift through the Abyss. The main difference, as he pointed out to Beth, was that they hadn't had a one hundred twenty year old sage magic conduit tending to them. This had helped Beth tremendously, and the two had spent the past ten minutes talking and laughing as if nothing was going on. The gun shot had brought them both back though.

"Sounds like there's some trouble on the fore deck," Arthur said, quickly getting up and sliding his knuckles on. Beth, now completely over her bout of hysteria, leapt off of her bed and grabbed a fire wheel rod she'd stuffed under the mattress.

"So there's no chance of you staying here where it's safe, is there?" Arthur asked in a tone of voice that already knew the answer."

"Not even the smallest, kupo. Now come on."

The two crept out of their quarters and peered around the door. Ten nooses had been wrapped around Roland, who was struggling against the ten soldiers holding the ropes.

"They've got Roland!" Arthur whispered.

"I can see that, kupo," Beth whispered back. "So what do we do?"

Arthur thought quickly. "Go get Matt. I'll try to cut Roland loose."

Beth scurried down the steps to the bar, where Matt was enjoying a relaxing half pint. His patient, still on the floor, was nursing a bottle of Firebird.

"It's strictly for medicinal purposes, kupo," Joseph said with a grin. "Matt says I'm going to pull through just fine, kupo."

Relief washed over Beth's face and she smiled brightly. "I don't know what I'd do if it turned out any other way, kupo. But Matt, Arthur and Roland need you up on the deck. A bunch of soldiers have your master, kupo."

Matt instantly got up and drew his saber. He and Beth ran up the stairs, leaving Joseph on the floor, bewildered and a bit upset.

"They didn't even bother to say not to follow them, kupo." Trying to shift to his side, a wonderful white hot pain blossomed in his chest. "Okay," he gasped. "Maybe they didn't need to kupo."

About ten feet above our convalescing friend, Arthur was having trouble against Roland's assailants. He'd fought monsters before while clearing ground for the monastery's gardens, and they were tough and cunning. He'd fought the Judges that had gotten in his way, but his no nonsense style was more than a match for them. These soldiers though. They were tougher than any panther he'd faced, and new more underhanded tricks than he did.

Looking to find an opening, Arthur blocked a sword swing at his head and flipped his opponent over his shoulder and into another black garbed fellow behind him. Finally seeing an opening he launched a kick at a man's chest. The man caught Arthur's leg and pushed him away, leaving Arthur tottering backwards on one leg.

One soldier behind him drew back his buckler and slugged him in the spine. Arthur collapsed and the grim moogle leader rolled him over with the toe of his boot. "Mr. Macfust kupo, we had no quarrel with you. Now though, I'm going to have to arrest you as well."

As he reached to heave up Arthur, two fireballs burst onto the scene. The smaller one got

Karl in the side and knocked him to the ground. The larger one hit the ground that had previously

been soaked by Roland's bottle. Normally, this wouldn't be problem, but a the rye distilled by

Erik Winston is more akin to jet fuel than to say, a bottle of Mount Vernon. The deck burst into

flames, knocking everyone aboard onto their backs. The towering inferno snaked up to the

heavens, leaving Karl, Arthur, and the Eagles unconscious. Roland got up though, and dusted off

His kilt, which had started to glow.

"The match goes to Roland Nikolai! But I must now place you under arrest for-"

Roland took out an Antilaw card and froze the judge in mid sentence before pushing his

motionless body off the airship. Dusting himself off, he nodded towards his two young saviors.

"That was an excellent use of the Fira spell, young Bethany."

"Thanks, kupo. Are you okay? You were pretty much at the center of it, kupo."

"Ah, this old kilt can withstand anything. Yet another reason why alchemy is a necessary

evil. At any rate my young moogle," he said to Karl's stationary body, "we seem to have won.

We'll just dump you and your thugs across the border when we get to Roda. Fair enough?"

Karl's unconscious body displayed a perfectly neutral view of the circumstances.

"Very good. Now then, apprentice-"

Two large grappling hooks bit into the ship's deck.

"Stand still for a moment would you? " Roland finished.

"What for, master?"

"This." Roland thwacked Matthew quite soundly across the head. He

fell to the ground, and he dragged his apprentice towards Arthur's body.

"This is really starting to get ridiculous. One reversal, then another, then another. I swear

if Joseph comes limping out after his surgery to put in his own dose of deus ex machina, I will

be annoyed." Then suddenly, the ship's speed drastically decreased and Roland was flung to the

ground. Again. "Well, that was slightly annoying also."

"Roland Nikolai, Bethany Winston, turn around and do not move," came an order from

behind him. Looking backwards, he saw a rather larger black ship hanging on to the Winston's

runner by grappling hooks. "troops are coming in to arrest and detain you."

Beth paled at the sight of the ship. Roland could sense another breakdown coming.

"Roland kupo, help! I can't go with them! I'm a Winston! If they get me, they'll use me as a

bargaining chip with my family! They'll be powerless! Do something, kupo!"

Roland took Beth's shoulder and drew her close. Her shivering stopped as she felt a soothing sensation go through her body at the sage's touch. "Bethany, do not worry. I

have been able to surmise how important you are to these people. But rest assured, as long as

you're in my care, no harm will come to you." he then looked down into her eyes. "I do need you

though. Will you come with me?"

Beth looked up at Roland. Slowly, she nodded. "I trust you, kupo."

Roland looked backwards. "Good. Because our valet has just arrived."

It was at this point that Roland was hit in the face with the butt of a gun.

There are some parts that are best left out of a story. The time that Arthur, Matt, and

Joseph spent in Roda is one of those. It would not be worth it to describe the job they did digging

amongst the catacombs under the great cathedral. It would be best if we didn't talk about Arthur

burying himself deeper and deeper into his work to forget his lost friend. It would be equally as

good to glean over the depression Joseph was thrown into, not eating, barely sleeping, slowly

becoming more and more like a shade than the healthy moogle he was. Only Matt seemed to take

the loss of his master well, but it would just be best to look the other way about the whole

ordeal. Suffice it to say that the mission was completed, and there was not much good feeling at

all.

However, this tale can be ended with this scene, one that took place at the very end of

this journey. A simple conversation over drinks in a little pub.

"Here you go, boys," Leonard said, bringing three mugs to the sober group taking up one

corner of the Bitter Old Bug. "This is it for the night. Make them last, eh?"

Matt put down the gil for the drinks and nodded at the bangaa barkeep. "Our thanks,

Leonard."

The three stared at the tankards. They drank from them. They stared again.

Finally, Matt turned to Arthur. "So, what are you going to do now?"

"I'm going back to the monastery," he said. "You?"

"Cadoan. Master gave me pretty detailed instructions if this was to happen."

"I'm going too, kupo," Joseph mumbled. "I'm going to find Beth."

"What about your job?" Arthur asked.

"I," he said, taking a deep breath. "I quit. After all I've done, my family wouldn't take

me back anyway, kupo. Now the only thing that matters is getting Beth back."

The three looked at their tankards again. They took another drink, and went back to staring.

"I don't know if we'll meet each other again," Arthur said. "But, when you do find Beth,

come over to the monastery and say hi. I'd like to see her again."

Joseph nodded. When he spoke, their was an iron resolve in his voice. "We will, kupo."

Leonard walked over to the three. "Bar's closed, lads. It was good seeing you all again."

Arthur got up. "Well, I guess this is goodbye," he said to the others.

"I guess so, kupo," Joseph said.

There wasn't any handshaking or hugging in this goodbye, just the overwhelming urge to

get it over with. Each wanted to go, to just put this entire time behind them. All the pain, all the

discomfort, the friends and opportunities lost. They all walked out of the Bug, and into the cold,

dark, snow swept night of Sprohm.

**Good God, is it finally over? Looks like it, huh? And so, it ends. But have no fear, **

**dear readers. This is merely the end of the beginning. There is much that these characters **

**have to go through. The next part of the series is going to be much, much longer. The truth **

**is, I had no idea where this story was going to go when I started to write it. One thing just **

**sort of led to the other, then all of a sudden, there was a plot! I was just as surprised as **

**everyone else with each twist it went through. It's been an amazing and totally awesome **

**ride thanks to you guys and it isn't even half over. Until then, I do have a slightly shorter **

**interlude planned which will be a bit more lighthearted and much more relevant to the **

**subject matter. So until then, my wonderful readers, I bid you a fond farewell.**


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